Painted Black
by wallflower1208
Summary: We are not always the people we are expected to be. Ara, the youngest daughter of ruthless Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, learns this the hard way, as the world she once knew begins to crumble around her. Set in OotP.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Welcome to my story! This is my first fic, and I'm still getting used to everything on this site, so feel free to leave me any constructive criticism =]

The opening paragraphs of this chapter are taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, pages 594-596. I edited them to cut out most of the dialogue that belongs to Barty Crouch, Jr., as the focus of the prologue doesn't center on him.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling. I own only the characters you do not recognize.

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**Prologue**

_The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Mr. Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified._

_Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face._

_"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror – Frank Longbottom – and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_"You are further accused of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong._

_"I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"_

_In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream._

_The dementors were gliding back into the room. The woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"_

_The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet. "Take them away!" Crouch roared, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"_

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Narcissa was allowed to see her before she was taken to Azkaban. Pale and shaking, the youngest Black sister clutched at the steel bars of Bellatrix's holding cell, as if needing them for support. "Bella…Bella, I…how am I going to get through this?" she whispered miserably.

"Don't be a twit, Cissy, you'll be fine," Bellatrix scoffed, her dark eyes boring into Narcissa's pale ones. She was sitting against the far wall, arms crossed. "Really, there's no need to be so overdramatic." A wistful look came over her striking features and her next words were spoken with fervor. "He'll be back one day, Cissy. The Dark Lord will rise again. They can lock me up, but in the end it will make no difference. The Dark Lord will reward me handsomely for my faith." She considered Narcissa, her expression becoming dark. "If only I could say the same for you."

Narcissa ignored this. "But Bella –"

"But what, Narcissa?" Bellatrix snapped, getting to her feet and closing the distance between herself and her sister, until they were separated only by the bars of her cell. She grasped the bars and leaned in, her face mere inches from Narcissa's. "You made your choices, and I've made mine. The difference between you and I is that I'm willing to brave anything – persecution, Azkaban, even death – for the Dark Lord. All you care about is saving your own neck so you can go home to your sniveling brat and your coward of a husband."

"There are things more important than the Dark Lord, Bellatrix!" Narcissa retorted, outraged. "Don't you care at all? You and Rodolphus have three little girls who are going to grow up without a mother or father –"

She was cut off as Bellatrix's thin arm shot through the bars, hand wrapping around her throat. "Take it back, you little bitch," Bella hissed maliciously, her eyes flashing. She tightened her grip as Narcissa's hand snaked toward her right pocket, no doubt reaching for her wand. Her younger sister sputtered and clawed helplessly against Bellatrix's hold. "Your husband took the Mark, Narcissa; you've both tortured blood traitors in his name, don't you _dare_ stand there and tell me the Dark Lord is not worthy of your complete submission and loyalty –"

"_IMPEDIMENTA_!"

There was a flash of light and a yelp of pain; Narcissa collapsed on her knees as Bellatrix released her. Gasping for air, she began to massage her aching throat, feeling something wet ooze between her fingers. Holding her hands up to her face, she saw that Bellatrix's long, sharp nails had drawn blood.

"Looks like you've lost the opportunity to share a cell, Madam Lestrange," a tall, balding Auror said sharply, his wand pointed at Bellatrix, who was huddled against fragments of the wall she'd been sitting beside moments ago. A deep gash was now present on her cheek. At least half a dozen other Aurors were behind the tall one who had cursed Bellatrix, their wands out and ready. "It'll be solitary confinement for you." He knelt down beside Narcissa. "Are you alright, Madam Malfoy?"

Narcissa allowed him to help her up. "I'm fine." She glared at Bellatrix. "I just came to see my sister, before…" she trailed off.

The Auror nodded briskly. "I understand, Madam Malfoy, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. The dementors are ready and waiting to transport your sister to Azkaban."

Narcissa thought she saw something like fear in Bellatrix's eyes, but the next moment she was sure she'd imagined it, for Bellatrix boldly stood and said defiantly, "The Dark Lord will liberate me when he returns –"

"Yes, yes, and reward you richly for your devotion," the Auror finished in a bored tone, narrowing his eyes at her. "We know. Get her ready," he spat at the other Aurors, who, wands raised, entered Bellatrix's cell and bound her hands. He turned to Narcissa. "Please, Madam Malfoy. It would be easier if you left."

Narcissa did not need telling again. With one last glance at Bellatrix, she headed towards the door, her heart twisting painfully, tears welling in her eyes.

"Cissy."

She stopped abruptly and composed herself; it would not do to show any more weakness in front of Bellatrix. Finally, she turned, to see the Aurors leading her sister away at wand point as Bellatrix spoke the last words Narcissa would hear from her for fifteen years.

"Make sure Andromeda doesn't get them."

It wasn't until later that night, when Narcissa was putting her infant son to sleep, that she understood Bellatrix's words.

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Reviews are appreciated!


	2. Breakfast Conversations

**Chapter 1 - Breakfast Conversations**

It's a beautiful morning – or near afternoon, rather, judging by what the clock on my bedroom wall tells me. The sky is a clear, brilliant shade of blue, and the sun shines brightly through my window, attacking my vision. "Quit it, Mally," I grumble at the house elf, who has just drawn back my curtains and is now attempting to pull the comforter from my grasp. "I'm tired."

"Mally apologizes, Miss Ara, but Miss Narcissa is insisting that you wake up now, miss!" The elf says cheerfully, finally managing the tug the comforter out of my hands. She pulls it to the end of my bed and folds it over neatly. I moan in annoyance and throw my hand over my eyes to block out the glaring sun. "The other elves is cooking a late breakfast now, miss, and your sisters is already up and ready!"

The thought of food makes my stomach turn. "I'm not hungry," I respond. I can still taste the wine Draco dared me to drink at the Mulcibers' party last night. After five glasses in a row, I nearly vomited. The little prick is lucky I didn't do so all over his new dress robes. "Just tell Aunt Cissy I'm feeling ill, I'm sure she won't mind."

"Miss Lyra has already tried that, miss, and Miss Narcissa is showing no mercy!" Mally squeaks, grabbing my hand in an effort to move me along. "Miss Narcissa says she must live with the consequences of drinking underage, miss!"

Damn. I can't have Aunt Cissy thinking I'm sneaking more than the occasional sip of champagne behind her back. "All right, all right, I'm coming," I mutter, swinging my legs over the side of my bed and rubbing my eyes tiredly. "Tell them I'll be down in a minute."

"Right away, miss!" Mally cries, her big, batlike ears flapping against her head as she nods vigorously. "And don't worry about the bed, Miss Ara, Mally will be right back up to take care of it!" She disappears, her steps fading as she scurries excitedly to the dining room.

As if I need reminding. Mally makes my bed every day, whether I order her to or not; I suspect it's just a part of her daily routine. Still seething at being woken up in an annoyingly abrupt fashion, I force myself out of bed and over to my closet. I stare at its contents for a moment before selecting a set of plain green robes. I pull them on and move to the bathroom, where I splash cold water onto my face in an attempt to make it look like I'm not as under the weather as I feel. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work; Aunt Narcissa will probably be able to perceive my "sick" state in an instant. Oh well. I run a brush through my thick black hair and pull it tightly into a ponytail and, after surveying my reflection one last time, make my way down to the dining room.

Uncle Lucius' spot is vacant when I arrive. Aunt Narcissa is sitting in her seat at the opposite end of the table, the _Daily Prophet_ spread out in front of her. She looks up as I enter but makes no comment as I slide quietly into my chair. My sister Carina is across from me, her focus on a long roll of parchment that was probably delivered along with the other mail early this morning. I snort inwardly as I recognize the handwriting of the moron she continually denies is her boyfriend, Elliot Ryeland. My other sister Lyra is next to her, buried in a book entitled _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7,_ though I know she is probably only pretending to read in order to fool Aunt Cissy into thinking she is perfectly well. The only one not immersed in some type of reading material is my cousin Draco, seated on my right. "Look who finally decided to join us," he remarks snidely, reaching out to take a sip of his pumpkin juice.

"Shut it, Draco," I snap back. "I doubt you were up much earlier than I was."

Draco grins sneakily. "Touchy, touchy," he sneers. "Had a little too much fun last night, did we?"

If I were of age I would hex him right now, no hesitation. Instead I have to settle for kicking him under the table. "Ara, please," Aunt Cissy says coolly, turning a page in her paper.

"He started it," I mutter, staring at my plate, wondering how I'm going to feign eating when my insides still feel twisted.

Draco notices this. "Hungry?" he asks innocently. "I'm famished, how much longer are these damn elves going to take with our breakfast?"

"Language, Draco," Aunt Narcissa admonishes, but at his words, the house elves march into the kitchen and begin to serve. Mally is now among them; she spoons a rather large helping of eggs onto my plate, followed by a platter of toast, bacon, and sausage. She adds a fresh helping of fruit on the side and I groan; there's no way I'm going to be able to eat all of this. Draco snickers at me. Git.

It is apparent that the party has taken a toll on all of us; we all, except for Draco, eat rather slowly. "Where's Uncle Lucius?" Lyra asks, taking a tiny bite of toast.

"At the Ministry," Aunt Narcissa responds, helping herself to some more bacon. "He had some business to take care of with the Minister. He should be home soon; he's been there all morning."

We hear a loud crack outside, and moments later, the door in the entrance hall opens. Speak of the devil. "Good morning," Uncle Lucius greets us as he enters the dining room, still clad in his traveling cloak and carrying what looks to be several important documents from the Ministry under his arm. He ruffles Draco's hair and kisses my sisters and I in turn, saving Aunt Cissy for last. "Tippy, hang this up and take these to my study," he orders the elf who has just come to refill our water glasses, carelessly throwing his cloak at her and placing the mound of scrolls in her outstretched arms. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, sir," Tippy mutters, barely able to be heard from underneath the cloak, ears waving as she hurries off towards the entrance hall.

Uncle Lucius slips into his seat and begins loading his plate with food. I can tell Aunt Narcissa is dying to ask what kind of business he had with the Minister, but Uncle Lucius does not like to be bothered when he is eating; this is well known fact at our table. Finally, her restraint cracks: "Busy morning at the Ministry, dear?" she asks casually, reaching for her water glass.

Uncle Lucius shoots her a look of annoyance but opts to respond anyway. I'm surprised; he and Aunt Cissy rarely discuss Ministry affairs in front of us. "Busier than usual. Precious Potter was caught using the Patronus Charm last night in front of a Muggle. Cornelius is having rather a difficult time sorting it out, mainly due to the meddling antics of Dumbledore."

"Potter used underage magic?" asks Draco excitedly, his eyes lighting up. He hates Harry Potter with a passion and enmity I've never quite understood. "Please, Father, tell me he's been expelled!"

Uncle Lucius narrows his eyes. "Initially, Potter _was_ expelled, but Dumbledore has since convinced Mafalda Hopkirk – the head of the Improper Use of Magic Office – to hold off on making a decision until Potter attends a disciplinary hearing on August twelfth."

Draco looks as if he's just been informed that he's been kicked off of the Slytherin Quidditch team. "But – but – underage magic results in immediate expulsion!" he sputters. "That's not fair, Father! Why does Potter get special treatment? Can't the Minister override Dumbledore?"

I roll my eyes. Draco is truly pathetic, the way he obsesses over getting Harry Potter into trouble. Uncle Lucius seems to agree with Draco, however, as there's a frostiness in his tone when he replies. "Unfortunately, Mafalda's one of the few in the Ministry who still believes Dumbledore's mental capacity is intact. He's managed to convince her that there were extenuating circumstances surrounding Potter's use of the charm, and she's looked up some law that states Potter is allowed to use this ludicrous story in his defense. The Minister is powerless to fight it."

The expression on Draco's face is one of pure outrage. Aunt Narcissa looks unsurprised. My sisters appear not to care – my sentiments exactly. "This is bullshit!" Draco explodes, pounding the table with his fist. "Even though everyone thinks he's a nutter for saying he saw the Dark Lord return, he's _still _being treated like some almighty hero –"

"Hush, Draco!" Aunt Narcissa hisses, her eyes flashing, and I know she is more upset at his bold mentioning of the Dark Lord than at his dirty language. "Finish your breakfast."

"Oh, come off it, Mother, we all know the Dark Lord is back," Draco retorts. A definite fight is brewing. Wonderful. "Just because you and Father refuse to tell us anything –"

"And with good reason!" Aunt Cissy snaps. "You're too young to be involved, Draco, you're still in school!"

"Too young?" Draco repeats furiously. "_Too young? _In case you haven't noticed, Mother, Potter and I are the same age, and _he's_ off risking his worthless life in all kinds of situations!"

"Enough, Draco!" Uncle Lucius interrupts, a bit too late, in my opinion. "Don't speak to your mother in such an insolent tone! You are not the Dark Lord's right hand man. If we deem something important enough for you to know, we'll tell you! Your mother's right: you, Lyra, and Ara are still in school. Your concentrations should be on your studies, not on the Dark Lord, especially when the rest of the wizarding world still believes him to be defeated!"

Ah, there's my name. I'd been wondering when I'd be thrown into the fray. Arguments in the Malfoy household almost always begin between Draco and his parents, but eventually my sisters and I get dragged in. Thankfully, Draco chooses not to try and get me to back him up. Instead, he glares at his father for a moment, before sinking back into his chair and crossing his arms. "I just want to help," he mutters sullenly.

"Your time will come, Draco," Uncle Lucius answers, polishing off the rest of his plate. "But it is not now." He stands, an action that clearly indicates the argument is closed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some documents to look over for the Minister." He heads off towards his study.

Taking her husband's lead, Aunt Narcissa dismisses us as well and calls for Tippy, Mally, and Dover, our third elf, to clear the table. Draco kicks away his chair and stalks out, presumably to his room, where he will no doubt waste his time thinking of various ways to crack his parents. Moron. If there's one thing Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius would protect with their lives, it's us, and I'm certain any idiotic scheme Draco comes up with to gain information on the Dark Lord will be seen through by them in an instant. If I were him, I'd be grateful to still have my freedom – once you sell your soul to the Dark Lord, there's no going back. My aunt and uncle have both pledged to him their undying allegiance; to betray him in even the slightest way would bring fierce repercussions. Draco, my sisters, and I are still free from that, but there will come a time when we'll have to choose where our loyalties lie. And if we want to live, we'll join the Dark Lord. Anything less would be a death sentence.

After all, we're members of the noble Black family. It's expected.


	3. Family Portrait

**Chapter 2 - Family Portrait**

For as long as I can remember, Narcissa Malfoy has been my mother. My biological mother, Bellatrix Lestrange (Aunt Cissy's older sister), has been locked up in Azkaban nearly my entire life, imprisoned for torturing two renowned Aurors into utter insanity. She will spend the rest of her days there, wasting away to nothing, becoming as mentally unstable as her victims. My father shares her fate. I often picture them together, side by side in a tiny, filthy cell, whispering plans of escape, or trading thoughts on how the daughters they left so long ago have grown. I used to dream that they would come back to me, that I would wake up one morning and stumble downstairs to the dining room to find Mother sitting at the table with Aunt Cissy, as if she'd never left. Father would be outside with Uncle Lucius, strolling the grounds, talking of things their wives couldn't be bothered to hear.

Years ago, Aunt Cissy used to keep newspaper clippings from the _Daily Prophet_ in the bottom drawer of her nightstand – stories about my mother and her trial. Once my sisters and I learned of their existence, we would take it in turns to break in and steal a few at a time to peruse together, desperate to learn more about a woman who was merely a mystery to us. We were young – ten, eight, and six, if I remember correctly – and like any child would, I'd had it in my head that my mother was perfect, an intelligent, confident beauty. I didn't care in the slightest that she had been a faithful supporter of the darkest wizard of all time. Those articles, however, made my mother out to be a monster, a ruthless criminal nearly as evil as the Dark Lord himself. They painted an entirely new picture in my mind, one I couldn't erase, no matter how hard I tried. Finally, against Carina's orders, I blabbed to Aunt Narcissa that we'd found the articles, hoping she would calm my fears and reassure me that, as usual, the _Daily Prophet_ had only been telling people what they'd wanted to hear.

No such luck. Aunt Cissy was furious; she burned the articles straightaway and punished us by making us take over the house-elves' chores for the day. She informed Uncle Lucius of our transgression the moment he came home, and later that night, after they'd calmed down, the pair of them had a chat with us. "We are your parents now," Uncle Lucius had said seriously, looking us straight in the eyes. I remember sitting on the couch between Carina and Lyra as he spoke, trying not to wince as Carina dug her nails surreptitiously into my arm, a sort of warning that she was going to let me have it for tattling. "You're old enough now to understand that your mother and father did bad things –"

"Did Mummy really kill someone?" Lyra had interrupted fearfully, her dark eyes wide and brimming with tears. "That's what the paper said." My heart beat more forcefully at her words. As the youngest, I hadn't been as accomplished in grammar and vocabulary as my older sisters, and I'd often relied on them to relate to me the finer points of the articles. Neither had mentioned to me that our mother had killed someone; looking back, I can only assume that they found the described incident too disturbing for my young ears.

Aunt Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, but Carina cut her off: "Yeah, and that she made two really good Aurors go crazy."

Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa exchanged glances with each other, debating what their next course of action should be. "Yes, honey," Aunt Cissy had finally said in a patient, soothing tone, taking Lyra's hand. "Your mummy did some very terrible things. That's why you, Carina, and Ara are living here with Uncle Lucius, Draco, and me."

Carina, the eldest, was, even then, too shrewd for their vague, simple explanations. "Why didn't you ever tell us before?" she'd demanded, drawing herself to her full ten year old height and crossing her arms. "You lied! You said they did bad stuff but you never told us what!"

To this day, I find it amazing that neither Uncle Lucius nor Aunt Narcissa lost their tempers with us. They remained calm, composed, as if this was an issue they'd been expecting us to bring up for some time – though not in the manner and at the ages we'd done so. "Carina, honey, we were just trying to protect you," Uncle Lucius had said gently, taking both of her hands in his and drawing her to him. Aunt Cissy pulled me into her lap and stroked my hair, while continuing to hold on to Lyra's hand. "You're still very young. There are a lot of things you don't understand."

"I'm almost eleven, and I'll be going to Hogwarts this fall," Carina had answered defiantly, narrowing her eyes. "I understand a lot more than _them_." She jerked her head towards Lyra and me. "They're just little kids."

"I am _not_ a little kid!" I had spoken up, the outrage in my words matching the look on Lyra's face.

Carina rolled her eyes. "You're six, Ara," she'd retorted. "And all you are is a little snitch. We shouldn't have even let you be a part of this in the first place!"

I hissed and tried to leap at her, but Aunt Cissy held me tight. "That's enough!" she'd said firmly, adjusting her grip on me. "Now, girls, listen to me, all of you: we understand that you want to know more about your mother and father, but like Uncle Lucius said, we're your parents now. It's not your job to worry about what they did and why they're in Azkaban; that's our concern, along with taking care of you. Some day, when you're older and can understand better, we'll tell you everything. But for now, don't let it trouble you." She paused, her eyes glazing over reminiscently. "Your mummy used to be beautiful lady. She was my big sister, and I loved her. Think of her like that."

And from that day onward, the name Bellatrix Lestrange was never mentioned in the manor again.

But the damage had been done; whatever Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius had said, my sisters and I now knew the truth of our parents' crimes, and we weren't likely to forget it anytime soon. We wore ourselves out discussing it – unfortunately including Draco in most of our conversations, since the annoying git had been eavesdropping behind the door during our talk with his parents and had heard every word – and more often than not, our discussions ended in mixed opinions. Lyra was completely against what they'd done, while Draco and Carina admired the mastery behind their powerful, albeit wicked, spells. I never knew what to think. Initially during our debates, I'd be on my mother's side, feeling domestically duty-bound, but once Lyra reminded me of the gruesomeness of her deeds, I'd quickly change my argument.

Just as our mother is a banished topic, so is Aunt Andromeda – Aunt Cissy's other sister, disowned by the Black family for marrying a Muggle. Mother, I can imagine, despises her for her treachery to her roots, if the stories of Muggle torture in those newspaper articles are anything to go by. Aunt Narcissa, however, still secretly communicates with her on occasion. We've been to visit a few times, when Uncle Lucius has been away on business. Her Muggle husband seems nice enough, as does her daughter – my cousin; I sometimes have trouble remembering that – and Aunt Andromeda herself is as sweet and lovely a person as Draco is an irritating prat. It took me a long time to figure out why Aunt Cissy never associated with her outside of those rare few times we'd been to see her, but eventually I came to understand that some wounds run too deep: Aunt Andromeda was her sister, but she'd betrayed her family, and to Aunt Cissy, there could be no real return from that.

I've compared Aunt Andromeda to pictures of my mother, and the resemblances are striking: same dark eyes, same proud cheekbones, same full lips. I like to imagine that they were close in their youth, before my mother turned into a heartless criminal and before Aunt Andromeda decided she wanted absolutely nothing to do with what the Black family stood for. I wish they could still be that way, or at least have some kind of civilized contact, as Aunt Cissy does with Aunt Andromeda. But from comparing the kindness inside Aunt Andromeda to the manic expression on my mother's face in nearly every photo of her I own, I know that such a thing is not possible. Not for Bellatrix Lestrange.

I've often been told – by friends of the family and highly inquisitive strangers, usually – that I look exactly like my mother; that with my long black hair and heavy lidded eyes, I am a replica of her beauty in miniature. Equally, I am told that I do not possess her temperament. That quality belongs to the ever-pleasant Carina. She and Lyra are known for greatly resembling our father, Rodolphus, who apparently passed on to them his rich chestnut hair and dark eyes. Together, however, there is no doubt who we are – the three Lestrange sisters. People expect great things from us, and it's easy to see why. We are immediately assumed to be devout followers of the Dark Lord, proponents of the quest for blood purity, and inheritants of the talent and power passed on to us by our parents. It is often taken for granted that we are exactly like our mother, a woman we barely remember, the fragments of whose life we have pieced together from the yellowing pages of a newspaper. Our name strikes fear in the hearts of many – fear for what our parents did and fear for what we are capable of doing. I've often gotten the impression that many are reserving judgment on us, waiting patiently to see what path we will choose: the dark, twisting, bloodstained road that we are expected to go down, or the unknown, equally as daunting way of the Light – a direction only few in our entire family line have chosen.

Despite how delusional the press tries to make them seem, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are right: the Dark Lord has returned. It's only a matter of time before people begin to realize it.

And when they do, "it" will start: the stares. The whispers. I'll be given a wide berth in the corridors, as if standing too close to me will provoke a round of the Cruciatus Curse. The majority of students – including many of my friends – will grow terrified of me, taking for granted that, deep down, I am a younger version of Bellatrix Lestrange. After all, her blood runs in my veins. It's only natural that I should take after her in disposition, along with my obvious physical inheritance.

Ultimately, it seems as if I don't have much of a choice, doesn't it?


	4. A Dark Birthday

**A/N:** I want to take the time to thank BlueMoon613 for being my first reviewer! Her comments mean a lot to me and I'm glad for the feedback!

Also, I wanted to say that if Lucius and Narcissa seem out of character to you in the last chapter, I apologize. It's just my own personal view of the Malfoys. I always imagined them to be different when they're alone, away from the public eye, where they're expected to be nasty and arrogant. I just think they're largely misunderstood, and when they're at home with just each other, a much more different side of them comes out. Narcissa is largely portrayed as placing her family above all else, and I like to take that and go with it. Plus, they were having a difficult conversation with three young children, and I think it's a good interpretation of how they would have handled it.

Okay, enough talk. Onto the next chapter!

**Disclaimer:** This will go for the rest of the story, because I'll get sick of having to write it out every other chapter. The Harry Potter series belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling. I own only the characters you do not recognize.

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**Chapter 3 – A Dark Birthday**

A week after the incident at breakfast finds Lyra, Draco, and I in Diagon Alley, searching for a present for Carina. Her birthday – the twenty-seventh of July – is rapidly approaching, and, as usual, we've left our gift shopping until the last minute. "Girl's going to be twenty and she's still living at home," mutters Draco resentfully from his chair in the entrance way of Madam Malkin's, his voice carrying to where I am perched in the back, being fitted for new dress robes. "She's crazy. The moment I turn seventeen I'm leaving that god-forsaken place forever."

I wince as Madam Malkin accidentally sticks me with a pin. Lyra glares critically as the older witch works; new dress robes are, after all, her idea, and as Carina and I are approximately the same height and build, she's forced me to be the hemming victim while she watches with an appraising eye. "Why would you want to leave?" I call back to Draco in an airy voice, knowing it will irritate him. "You've got it made, Drakey-darling. Mummy and Daddy give you anything you want."

Draco appears around the corner, his expression sulky. "What's your point?" he snaps angrily. "They give you three everything, too. That's not the problem. The problem is they treat us all like we're children!"

"Maybe so you," I reply, lifting my arms at Madam Malkin's prodding, "But that's because you act like one."

Draco gives me an extremely ugly look. I can practically feel his anger rising and laugh to myself; it's almost always worth it to get a rise out of him like this. "You're so ignorant," he says, crossing his arms. "I'm sick and tired of Mother acting like I'm some five year old who can't handle anything that doesn't relate to my education. She treats you two and Carina the same way. The only difference is that you don't fight back like I do."

"No, the only difference is that we aren't self-centered prats who think it would be fun to throw our lives away for the Dark Lord," I retort in a hiss.

"That's enough!" Lyra interrupts suddenly, her eyes flashing; Madam Malkin has become too in-tune with our conversation. At Lyra's withering glance, she fumbles with a few more pins and finally straightens up. "That you done, my dear," she says loudly, though there is a noticeable tremble in her voice.

Draco and I wait outside while Lyra pays for the robes and has them gift-wrapped. "I'd suggest not announcing that in front of Mother and Father," Draco says conversationally, leaning casually against the door frame. At my quizzical glance, he goes on: "You know, the 'not-wanting-to-throw-away-your-life-for- the-Dark Lord' thing. Our entire family supports him. It would be suicide not to, especially now that he's back."

"I only said it wouldn't be fun, not that I wouldn't support him," I answer evenly, my heart racing. In all honesty, I don't know where I stand in my beliefs. It's true that many of our family are followers of the Dark Lord, willing to give their lives up to do his bidding. But for the majority of _my_ life, the Dark Lord has been an unknown and invisible presence, spoken of but never seen. He's never had a direct impact on any aspect of my being – save for the actions of my mother and father, who I barely even remember, anyhow – and for that reason, I remain impartial, putting off dwelling on the ways he can affect my world until it becomes absolutely necessary.

Draco shrugs. "Just looking out for you. At least Carina knows what's good for her."

"What are you talking about?"

He smirks. "Don't worry about it. You'll find out the night of her party."

I stare at him, disgusted. "You're such a liar."

Draco raises his brows. "Am I?" he asks lightly. "I've been…how should I put this? '_Overhearing'_ Mother's conversations lately." His smirk is so pronounced that I won't be surprised if it stretches his face permanently. "And let's just say, Carina's getting a better gift than anything Lyra just picked out in there." He jerks his head towards the shop.

I continue to study him, unable to discern whether or not he's trying to trick me. The little prat has an annoying habit of faking superiority, as if he knows more about things than I do. "Nice try, Draco. Aunt Cissy already told me what she's gotten Carina."

Draco chuckles. "An emerald pendant, right?" Apparently reading the answer in my expression, he continues: "That's what she's _told_ you. There's a bit more to the story. A _dark_ bit, if you know what I mean."

"I don't. And I don't care to. Lying and arrogance aren't becoming qualities, Draco, hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

He laughs again, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. "Oh, just wait, Ara. You'll see."

I open my mouth to argue further, but Lyra chooses that moment to bustle out of the shop. She ushers us hurriedly in the direction of the Apothecary, rendering any more discussion on the validity of Draco's story impossible.

* * *

The day of Carina's birthday dawns bright and cheery, clear with a slight breeze. "It's going to be a beautiful night for your party, darling," Aunt Cissy purrs over lunch, running a pale hand down Carina's cheek lovingly.

Carina smiles and fingers the emerald pendant around her neck, engraved with the words _Toujours Pur_. "Always Pure", the Black family motto. "I can't wait," she says excitedly, her dark eyes gleaming. I snort inwardly and take another sip of my water. Carina's had a birthday party every year for as long as I can remember, as has Lyra, whose birthday is in December, near the start of the winter holidays. It's a bit more difficult to accommodate mine, as I was born in April, but Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius somehow always manage to work it in over Hogwarts' spring break. Like many pureblood parents, they rarely miss an opportunity to throw some sort of extravagant gathering for even the tiniest event. It's a chance to show off their beautiful, perfect children, as well as their great wealth. In fact, I've been wondering whether tonight will find Carina engaged to some affluent, powerful wizard – certainly not the idiotic Elliot Ryeland, who, despite being a pureblood, can barely hold his own against a first year in a duel.

It suddenly strikes me that perhaps an engagement is the "amazing" mystery gift.

Draco grins at me and nods slightly – a kind of sign that tonight should be interesting. I ignore him and continue eating. My mind continues to dwell on the fact that a proposal for my oldest sister might be in the works…

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Lyra and I get ready for the party and wile away the remaining hours helping Carina to look her best. She wears the new, bottle green dress robes we've gotten her; they match perfectly with her shining pendant and bring out the olive tones in her skin. Her dark hair falls in waves down her back, nearly reaching her waist, and thanks to my sufficient cosmetology skills, her face appears serene, natural, flawless. "You're gorgeous," Lyra breathes, running a brush once more through Carina's thick locks.

Carina smirks at her reflection, reminding me heavily of Draco – the two are sometimes so alike that it startles me. "I know," she answers smugly, tossing her head so that her hair falls in a way that flatters and frames her face. Always so modest.

I seat myself gingerly on Carina's bed, careful not to put any wrinkles in my ocean blue robes, freshly pressed by Mally. "Draco seems to think you're getting some kind of fantastic present at the party tonight," I say casually, as if it is of no importance to me.

"Draco's an idiot," Carina says breezily, standing up and surveying now the entire works of her outfit. She frowns and grabs the tube of mascara from her dresser.

"Don't put anymore on, it's fine the way I have it," I caution her, sighing as she ignores me and begins ruining my careful work.

"Is Elliot going to propose to you?" Lyra asks hopefully, voicing the thought I'd had earlier. She's sitting in Carina's vacated chair, pointing her wand at certain locks of hair and wordlessly ordering them to curl.

Carina shrugs. "Perhaps." She tosses the make-up back onto her dresser and once again studies her image. Her lashes are now too dark to pass as natural, of course; the girl rarely ever listens to me. "I'd like him to," she adds wistfully.

I snort in disgust.

"He's handsome, smart, and pureblood," Carina says haughtily, glaring at me in the mirror. "What more can you ask for?"

"Someone with a sense of humor, for starters," I reply, examining my nails. The polish has already begun to chip off of my thumb. "He's a bore, Carina, and not as smart as you think. He reminds me of that Weasley, Percy, to be honest."

Before I know what's happening, Carina has her wand pointed between my eyes. "Don't _ever_ compare anyone I associate with to the Weasleys," she hisses, her face twisted in an expression of great anger. I freeze, feeling the color drain from my face; I don't dare to move. At last, Carina catches sight of Lyra's scared glance in the mirror, and she lowers her shaking arm, dropping her wand on her dresser. "Bunch of blood traitors," she mutters, turning her back on me and gripping the edges of her dresser so tightly her knuckles turn white.

I relax as my heart rate returns to normal. This isn't the first time my sister has turned her wand on me, and though she's never actually attacked me, only threatened, being unprepared and underage is more often than not a serious disadvantage on my end. "I'm sorry," I apologize quietly, trying to keep the peace. "I just meant that there are more desirable wizards than Elliot out there."

Carina opens her mouth to speak, but thankfully Mally chooses that moment to knock on the door, squeaking, "Misses, time to come downstairs! Miss Narcissa says the guests shall be arriving any minute!"

"We'll be right down, Mally," Lyra replies kindly, and the elf scampers off down the hall and, presumably, back downstairs. With one last scathing look at me, Carina follows in her stead. For what seems like hours, all Lyra and I do is stare at each other. Finally she stands and offers me her hand, gripping tightly as we walk and not letting go until we reach the entrance hall.

There is a small group of people gathered in the hall when Lyra and I arrive. The receiving line consists of my aunt, uncle, and eldest sister, greeting the first guests as they enter. Tippy is at the door to let the company in and take their cloaks. "Beautiful, beautiful," a large, red-faced man is saying as we approach, wringing Uncle Lucius' hand and beaming. I recognize him as Agnelo Ryeland, Elliot's father. "She's lovely as ever, Lucius, you've raised a fine girl there!" He drops my uncle's hand and, unfortunately, turns his gaze upon my sister and me. "Ah, Lyra, Ara! Two more beautiful young ladies. Growing up to be just as exquisite as your sister, eh?"

My first-ever impression of Agnelo Ryeland was that he resembled some sort of gorilla, and that sentiment is only reinforced today: with his protruding belly, heavy dark eyebrows, pouchy cheeks, and tomato-red face, he looks like he'd be better off running wild in the jungles of the Amazon. "Thank you, Mr. Ryeland," Lyra and I chorus politely, shaking hands with him in turn. I peer past him to see if I can spot Elliot behind him; if his father is here, Elliot can't be far behind. Sure enough, I see him kissing Aunt Cissy's hand, followed by his mother, a tiny, blonde woman who looks absolutely miniscule when standing next to her husband.

As it isn't our party, Lyra and I are not required to stand in the receiving line. We make our way into the ballroom, where a few other guests have already begun to socialize. "What on _earth_ has she done to her hair?" Lyra whispers as the great, hulking Millicent Bulstrode enters the room with her parents, her dark brown tresses hanging limp and oily around her face. It seems as if she's attempted to tame her locks with some sort of hair gel and failed miserably. "It looks like she's been taking hairdressing tips from Snape…"

I laugh as Snape himself, accompanied by my uncle, sweeps in, cloak whipping around him like a bat's wings. He glances over to where Lyra and I are sitting and narrows his eyes before falling back into conversation with Uncle Lucius. The two have been good friends since their Hogwarts days and have remained so throughout the years. Snape is regularly invited to family gatherings and often comes around for dinner over the holidays. Like most Slytherins, I have nothing against the man; I'm rather adept at Potions and have enough sense not to talk back to him or anger him. His presence in my home, though, is always rather awkward, as I expect it would be for any student who frequently has teachers over for dinner.

Lyra and I amuse ourselves over the next hour by pointing out various guests as they arrive and making fun of different aspects of their appearance. I nearly vomit when Carina walks in with Elliot, arms linked. They're followed by Draco and Pansy Parkinson, who has a self-satisfied smirk on her face, as if any girl would love to be at Draco's side. They spot Lyra and me and make their way over, Draco pulling the chair next to Lyra out for Pansy and then seating himself next to me. Lovely.

"Hi, Lyra," Pansy coos sweetly, facing my sister. She turns to me and her expression hardens – we've never gotten along very well. "Hello, Ara."

"Hey, Pansy," I reply dryly. "Having a good holiday?"

"As good as it can be without my Drakey," Pansy answers, sending Draco a puppy-dog look from across the table. Lyra looks disgusted. I'm certain my expression mirrors her own. I've never quite understood what Draco sees in Pansy: she's a conceited, selfish cow who's nasty to just about everyone. Then again, Draco harbors some of the same qualities, so perhaps they're made for each other.

Thankfully, we're soon joined by a few other Slytherins – Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint – to help keep Draco and Pansy from becoming too lovey-dovey with one another and making me lose my appetite altogether. We chat of trivial things for a bit, as the elves walk around serving wine. Finally, the food appears, and we're all silent as we stuff ourselves full of the house-elves' delicious cooking.

"Little rats have outdone themselves this year, this is fantastic," says Draco thickly over dessert, his mouth full of blueberry pie. Looking at him, one would think it astonishing he'd ever been taught proper table manners.

"Don't call them rats," Lyra says crossly, accepting the slice of pie I've handed her.

Flint laughs loudly from his spot on Lyra's right. He's the only one of us at the table who has already left Hogwarts. "They're house-elves, Lyra," he chuckles, leaning back in his chair and ruffling his dark hair. His eyes are oddly glassy; he's had a few too many glasses of wine. "They're born to serve. You can call them whatever you want and they can't do a damn thing about it." He takes another sip from his goblet, looking thoughtful. "Useful little wankers, they are, though."

Lyra smacks him on the shoulder. "Marcus Flint, you are an absolute pig –!"

"Ow! For Merlin's sake, Lyra, calm down, I was only saying –"

They continue to bicker as we finish our meals, only shutting up when I snap at them to grow up. The atmosphere turns somewhat awkward and I almost sigh with relief when I hear the first strains of the instruments Uncle Lucius always enchants to play dance tunes. Draco and Pansy excuse themselves to dance, and Flint somehow redeems himself enough to convince Lyra to accompany him to the floor, leaving me alone with Crabbe and Goyle, who are shoving down their fifth helpings of dessert. I watch them with distaste until I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

"Dance with me, Ara?"

I turn around. Standing there is Anthony Abarca, a Slytherin in Lyra's year. "Sure," I answer, grateful to have an excuse to leave Crabbe and Goyle without appearing rude.

Anthony leads me to the floor and pulls me close. "Having a good time?" he asks me, smiling. With his wavy brown hair and boyish charm, he looks exactly like his father, another close friend of Uncle Lucius' that I've met on a few occasions.

I shrug, watching Carina and Elliot whiz past us. "Not particularly." I scowl as Elliot spins my sister around, laughing. Aunt Narcissa is watching from afar, her face wistful, and I get the feeling that she is remembering when she and Uncle Lucius used to dance like that. "Are you?"

"It's alright. Fancy parties like this aren't exactly a pastime of mine."

I smile. "Nor mine. I'd rather –"

_Crack._

The Apparition sound interrupts me, and the next thing I know, people are yelling, startled, jostling one another aside to get away from the center of the floor. Anthony grabs my arm and pulls me back, holding on to me tightly. The crowd is pressing in on us; we can't see anything, but there appears to be someone in the middle of the floor. Everyone has grown quiet, staring at something we cannot see. I feel the witch beside me – Elliot's mother – draw a shaky, rattling breath.

"What is this?" comes a high, cold voice from the middle of the floor. The blood chills in my veins. "You do not kneel before your lord?"

Almost as one, the entire crowd drops to their knees, their heads bowed. I'm too shocked to move. Anthony pulls me to my knees; across the room, I can see Lyra, equally as surprised, sunk into a curtsy as well. Carina is near the front of the throng of people, her eyes shining and excited. The sight of her looking so eager unhinges me.

Uncle Lucius leaves the crowd and crouches down at the figure's feet. "My lord," he murmurs, and I finally catch my first glance of the mysterious figure: he is tall and thin, clad in a dark robe. His face is white as snow, his slit-like, scarlet eyes narrowed. I don't believe what I'm seeing.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord says, beckoning him stand, and my uncle does so, along with the rest of the crowd. Everyone has shifted and I now have a clear view of what's going on. "And Narcissa," he continues, as my aunt appears next to her husband, standing tall and proud. "Where is she?"

Carina steps out of the crowd excitedly – too excitedly. "I'm here, my lord," she announces loudly and clearly.

The Dark Lord turns to her, his crimson irises sweeping her up and down. The crowd is speechless, staring at the scene before them in shock. I grip Anthony's hand tightly, confused and fearful of what's going to happen. "The first-born of my most faithful," the Dark Lord hisses softly, his face rearranging into an expression of satisfaction. "Come forward, girl." He turns to my uncle. "You have taken care of the others, have you not, Lucius?"

"Yes, my lord," Uncle Lucius answers, "All Imperiused as they arrived, all ordered to act as they would at any other party. All except for the select few you ordered to remain free of the curse."

I don't know what he is talking about until I realize he is speaking of the guests: he and Aunt Cissy must have been placing the Imperius Curse on each one as they walked in. I barely have time to register this when about twenty others, including Snape – the "select few" – leave the crowd and go to stand behind my aunt and uncle, looking pleased. I glance over at Anthony, bewildered, but I already know it is hopeless and that he is one of the controlled: his face is rigid, stoic, taking in the scene before him with blank eyes. I'm unsure of how I hadn't noticed before. Apprehension races through my nerves and suddenly I want to run as far away from this room as I can get.

"Lyra, Ara, Draco, come join us," Aunt Cissy commands softly, her pale eyes searching for us among the crowded room.

How do I know I am not Imperiused? I hesitate for a moment to test myself; when I realize there is nothing forcing my feet forward, I catch Lyra's gaze and send her a silent question: _What's going on?_

She shakes her head at me, bewildered, but steps forward. Draco has already done so and is glaring at me expectantly. Sucking in my breath, I let go of Anthony's hand and join my family and the other twenty un-Imperiused Death Eaters – for that is what I now recognize them as.

"Ah, the middle daughter," the Dark Lord whispers, now gazing intently at Lyra. "Come, stand next to your sister…so very alike, you are. Intelligent. Brave. I sense it within you." He steps closer and runs a white finger down Lyra's cheek. Though she shows not outward sign of weakness, I can tell she is repressing a shudder. "Lord Voldemort values both of these qualities. What year are you at Hogwarts, young Lestrange?"

"Seventh," Lyra mumbles, her eyes on the floor.

The Dark Lord nods approvingly. "We shall see soon, then, whether you will follow in the footsteps of your parents and sister." He steps back and observes both Carina and Lyra at once. "Rodolphus in the physical sense, but Bella in spirit." With these words, he turns away from them and faces me. He grins, and a sense of foreboding washes over me. "And what do we have here?"

"This is Ara, my lord, Bella's youngest," Uncle Lucius introduces me, avoiding my eyes. I can understand why; it is likely he recognizes how unnerved I am that the Dark Lord counts Carina among his servants.

The Dark Lord motions me forward, and I obey, feeling as if my feet are blocks of lead. "Ara," he says, trying the word on his tongue. "So much like Bellatrix. It's almost as if her face is staring back at me." He chuckles. "Though much younger, of course."

I say nothing. My brain can't form a comprehensive sentence. I still don't understand what's going on or why the Dark Lord is here in my home. My aunt and uncle are followers of him, yes, but why is he here, interrupting my sister's party and studying us as if we're some fascinating object as yet unknown to wizards?

I pull myself out of my thoughts quickly enough to realize that the Dark Lord is speaking to me, posing the same question he'd asked Lyra: "My fifth year, sir," I reply, surprised to find that I indeed still retain the power of speech.

The Dark Lord frowns. "Still very young…I do not wish to disrupt your education. Such an important matter should not be taken lightly." He cradles my cheek in the palm of his hand. His touch is not as cold as I'd expected, but sends a shiver throughout my body nonetheless. He raises his eyebrows and smirks; something about me seems to amuse him. "How very much like Bellatrix you are. Uncanny." He says no more and turns back to my aunt and uncle. "She is ready?"

For a moment, I think he is talking about me. Then I realize he means Carina, who is staring at him with something close to ardent devotion. "Yes, my lord," Uncle Lucius answers, his voice soft.

"Very well." He raises his voice. "Come to me, girl, and hold out your left arm."

And finally, finally, I understand what is happening. I want to scream, but it catches in my throat, and Lyra digs her long nails into my arm to prevent me from doing so. Draco watches with a jealous fascination in his face. Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius seem proud, excited.

I should have seen this coming a mile away.

The Dark Lord presses the tip of his wand to my sister's left forearm. "Carina Lestrange," he hisses, snakelike, "Do you pledge to honor Lord Voldemort above all others, always?"

"I do," Carina whispers, her voice shaking slightly.

"To put him before all others, even your family?"

"I do."

"To do what he asks of you, and to serve him faithfully? To keep his secrets, to encourage his reign, and to brave anything for him, even death?"

"I do."

The tip of his wand begins to glow. "Then, Carina Lestrange, I welcome you to the Death Eaters."

Carina screams, the wand tracing a pattern onto her skin, branding her. I want to rush forward and stop it, she sounds in so much pain, but before I know it, it's over, and the Dark Lord is pocketing his wand –

And there on Carina's left forearm sits a combination of snake and skull, binding her forever to the Dark Lord's service.

The Dark Lord does not linger, he Disapparates almost immediately. The other Death Eaters assist my aunt and uncle in Obliviating the memories of the Imperiused guests, erasing what they've just witnessed, and the party continues on as normal, as if nothing has interrupted, as if my older sister hasn't just become a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

The first words out of Draco's mouth that night, as we climb the stairs to our rooms?

"I told you so."


	5. Forever Ends Now

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait…work has been taking over my life lately, and I've been spending awhile on this chapter because I didn't like the way it was turning out. I'll try not to wait so long to update next time, but school starts in a week and I'm going to be super busy with that, so I'm afraid that updates may be a little slower as of next Monday. Hopefully you'll stick with me! I have no plans to abandon.

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Forever Ends Now**

_The night is calm, breezy, a countless amount of stars dotting the navy blue sky. It's the twenty-eighth of August. Summer nights seem to run together, one hazy blur after the next, but this one sticks in my mind for several reasons. _

_Carina is due to leave for Hogwarts in three days. She, Lyra, and I are sitting in the garden, the manor hidden from view, the sweet fragrances of Aunt Cissy's roses – carefully tended to by Dover – bathing the night air. "You're so lucky you get to go to Hogwarts, Car," Lyra sighs, licking the remnants of her chocolate ice cream cone from her fingers. "I can't wait until I can."_

_Carina smiles superiorly but says nothing, biting the top of her pumpkin flavored cone._

_"Will you write to us?" I ask, staring at her dessert enviously. Mine is long gone, the taste of cherry still lingering in my throat._

_Carina rolls her eyes. "I suppose so," she answers, as if taking the time to pen a paragraph or two is some great trial. She polishes off her cone. "If I have the time to," she adds, between mouthfuls of ice cream._

_Typical Carina – pretending to be sophisticated beyond her years. "I'll tell Aunt Cissy and she'll make you," I retort smugly, knowing I've won. The threat of Aunt Cissy has a ninety-five percent success rate._

_"Oh, quit being a baby, I was only joking," Carina sneers, lying back in the grass, hands behind her head. "Of course I'll write. Every day, if it shuts you up."_

_"What if you're Sorted into Hufflepuff?" Lyra cuts in, her eyes wide. I'm not quite sure what exactly Hufflepuff entails, but I know for certain it's the one Hogwarts House nearly every student wishes to avoid._

_Carina laughs loudly. "Please, Lyra," she giggles. "There's no way that would ever happen, not in a million years."_

_"It could," Lyra argues smoothly. "You could even be put into Gryffindor!"_

_Carina stops laughing immediately. "Don't even say that!" she cries, scandalized. "That's not funny. Aunt Cissy would throw me out on the streets."_

_I'm wrong. Apparently Gryffindor is the House to be avoided at all costs._

_"I'll be in Slytherin," Carina continues confidently. "Everyone's been in Slytherin. Everyone who's anyone, that is."_

_We ponder this for a moment, the chirping sounds of the garden crickets permeating the silence. "Will you miss us?" I say finally, breaking the peaceful quiet._

_My oldest sister makes an impatient hissing noise. "Why do you always ask such stupid questions?"_

_Her annoyance hurts me but I've learned long ago not to let it show. "Fine, I won't miss you either," I snap nonchalantly. "Go away to Hogwarts and forget all about us. I don't care."_

_"I won't forget about you, Ara," Carina answers, her tone somewhat softer. "Hold on. I'll prove it." She stands and runs back towards the manor._

_I stare after her. "Where's she going?"_

_Lyra shrugs. "How should I know?"_

_We don't have to wait long to find out. Carina returns in a few minutes, panting, a gleaming silver kitchen knife in her hands."Give me your hand," she demands, holding her own out._

_Neither Lyra nor I hasten to obey. "What are you doing with that?" Lyra asks, regarding the knife suspiciously. Her gaze moves to Carina's. "Carina? What's going on?"_

_"It's called a blood bond, you morons," Carina explains quickly, her patience wearing thin. "We each draw a little blood and press our hands together. It'll make us closer."_

_"You mean we have to stab ourselves?" I ask warily._

_"Just a little. It won't hurt, I promise."_

_Lyra hesitantly offers her hand, and Carina pricks her finger. I'm next. I bite my lip as Carina pokes me with the knife and a sharp pain spreads throughout my palm, but I don't cry. They'd just yell at me again for acting like a little kid. Finally, Carina pierces her own skin, not so much as a wince crossing her features. "Now, press your fingers against mine," she orders, holding out her index._

_Lyra and I do so. "This is stupid," Lyra complains huffily. "Like some dumb Muggle thing."_

_"How would you even know what Muggles do?" Carina snaps. "Stop whining, you're ruining it." She coughs and clears her throat. "Okay. We have to promise to be sisters forever."_

_I stare at her, confused. "But we already are sisters forever."_

_"That's not the point, Ara," Carina responds. "This makes it official. Now promise."_

_I hate her bossing me around, but I don't want to start a fight. "Fine. We'll be sisters forever."_

_Carina nods approvingly. "Lyra?"_

_Lyra bobs her head in agreement."Sisters forever."_

_Our blood mingles, running down our fingers, dripping gently onto the grass, a shade of scarlet not unlike Aunt Cissy's prized roses. "Forever," Carina whispers, pushing our fingers together even more tightly, sealing the bond, making it official._

* * *

It's well after two A.M. when Lyra comes to me, the whining of the door jamb alerting me to her presence. Silently, she climbs into bed beside me, the mattress creaking with her added weight. "Ara?" she whispers, her voice hoarse. It's a pointless summons, we both know I've been lying awake for hours after the party, waiting for her to appear.

I don't say anything and I don't turn to face her, waiting for her to make the first move. She sighs and shifts to lie on her back. "Carina's changed," she finally says quietly. It's not a question, and her voice holds no trace of shock or surprise; she states it as clearly and factually as if we're talking about tomorrow's weather.

I maintain my silence.

"Do you even care, Ara?"

Lyra tries to conceal the accusatory tone, attempting to sound simply curious. With anyone else, she may have succeeded, but I see through her facade easily. "Of course I do," I say smoothly, turning and propping my chin on my elbow.

Lyra is quiet for a moment. "She's going to turn out just like Mum."

Her words momentarily stun me. Our mother is so rarely spoken of that the mere whisper of her name creates that effect. "You're insane," I finally say. "How can you even compare the two? Carina's nothing like her!"

"Not yet," Lyra replies, still in that calm, matter-of-fact voice. "But she will be. She serves a new master now, Ara. When the rest of the wizarding world finds out that the Dark Lord has returned, it will be just like last time: disappearances, murders, people living in complete fear. Except this time, Carina will be the one causing those things. The gruesome acts she's capable of will shock you."

I stare at her, unwilling to picture the monster image she's painted of Carina. "Well, what about Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius?" I counter fiercely. "They're supporters of the Dark Lord, too. Aren't you afraid they'll be right alongside her doing those things?"

Lyra hesitates, and I know I've struck a nerve. "Of course I'm scared of that," she says finally, her voice soft, "But I can't stop any of them from doing what they want. I just don't want our family to be ripped apart."

"'Rip our family apart?' You're possibly one of the most melodramatic people I've ever met in my life," I answer, settling back down into the sheets. "Let it go, Lyra. You're getting way ahead of yourself. The majority of the world doesn't even know that the Dark Lord is back. For all we know, he may never return to power, and your ridiculous fears will be completely unfounded."

Lyra is quiet for so long that I nearly jump out of my skin when she speaks again. "You're so naïve, Ara."

It's one thing hearing that from Draco, but coming from my sister, it strikes a deeper chord. "Why, because I don't spend my time trying to control other peoples' lives or worrying about things that haven't even happened yet?" I spit at her. "Carina is still our sister, Lyra, just as Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius are still our flesh and blood, despite whatever crimes they may have committed during the first war. It doesn't matter if I don't agree with their choices, they're still family. _Our_ family. You can't just walk away from that."

"Andromeda did. And you know, _Mother_ is still our flesh and blood, too," Lyra snarls, her tone suggesting that the word "mother" is some sort of vulgar atrocity. "Are you telling me that if she were to show up on our doorstep tomorrow, you'd welcome her back with open arms?"

More out of wanting to win this battle than anything else, I answer firmly, "Yes, I would."

Lyra sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Then you're a fool," she snaps, heading towards the door. "You'll see that I'm right. And by that time, you'll probably have that disgusting skull tattooed on your arm as well. Don't come crying to me when our lives are in ruins and you're bound to that horrible man, all for the sake of _family_ and _honor_. I won't be there."

She slams the door on her way out, effectively cutting off the vicious retort I'm forming. My heart pounds forcefully in my chest as I seethe, her words echoing in my mind. She's wrong. Our sister may be many things, but she's not a murderer, and no matter what our aunt and uncle may have done in the past, they're the ones who raised us. I won't lose them. It won't make a difference what the future brings – death, destruction, torment, whether it's caused by them or not. Blood is blood, eternally, forever.

And if I eventually have to swear my loyalty to the Dark Lord to make sure of it, then so be it.

* * *

"Hogwarts letters, Miss Narcissa," Mally announces a couple of weeks later, entering the drawing room with Abraxas, the family owl – named after Draco's grandfather, the boy threw an absolute fit until we all agreed on the name – perched on her shoulder. In her eagerness to deliver the letters, she trips over an upturned corner of the rug, causing the owl to hoot indignantly and swoop over to Draco. Orion, our temperamental cat, hisses lightly from his position on Carina's lap, yellow eyes fixated hungrily on Abraxas.

"For goodness' sake, Mally, conduct yourself with _some_ amount of decorum," Uncle Lucius says irritably, barely sparing the elf a glance from the Ministry document he's reading over. Mally struggles to her feet and hands three identical roles of parchment to Aunt Cissy, who is proofreading an essay Professor McGonagall set to Lyra and the other seventh years over the summer holiday. "Good God, it's lucky we didn't have company this afternoon, you'd be an embarrassment to your kind."

Mally's already overlarge eyes widen as she shakes her head profusely. "Oh, no, Mr. Malfoy, sir, Mally apologizes, she didn't mean to, sir, Mally only wanted to get the letters to Miss Narcissa as quickly as possible, sir –"

"Quit babbling, you're giving me a headache," Uncle Lucius cuts in harshly. "Go clean something before you find yourself with _clothes_."

Mally gives a little squeak of fear and claps her tiny hands over her mouth. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, sir, right away, sir!" she runs off, squealing, "Mally will clean the dining room, sir, oh yes, it will look lovely for dinner tonight, sir!"

My uncle rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds like "damn elf" before going back to his papers. He detests being interrupted during what he calls his "afternoon leisure time." For a couple of hours every day, he retires to the drawing room and either reads, writes letters, or reviews documents sent to him by Minister Fudge. We're welcome to join him, but normally, anyone with an ounce of sense would rather not: he snaps at even the slightest disturbance.

"Here, darling," Aunt Cissy calls to me, ignoring the irritated look Uncle Lucius throws at her and tossing me one of the rolls of parchment. I mark my place in my book and unfurl the letter, scanning the contents. Nothing in particular jumps out at me, it's the usual Hogwarts reminders: booklists, King's Cross on September 1, first years are forbidden from bringing broomsticks –

"Oh, Draco, dear, I'm so proud!"

I look over. Aunt Cissy has Draco in a hug so tight his normally pale face has gone pink. In his hand sits a shiny new prefect's badge. "Prefect, Lucius!" she beams at her husband. "Our baby is a prefect!"

Uncle Lucius glances over at them. "Seems Dumbledore's made one good decision as of late," he says proudly. "Following in my footsteps, you are, Draco. Like father, like son!"

"Seems Dumbledore's gone mental, if you ask me," I mutter.

Draco smirks. "Really? Where's your prefect badge, Ara?"

I glare at him and cross my arms. "I haven't gotten one. Apparently I missed the meeting where they told you being a self-centered git is one of the requirements."

My cousin opens his mouth to reply, but Aunt Cissy cuts him off. "That's enough," she says smoothly. "Draco, you'll have to have a reward of some sort. Anything you'd like, darling, just name it."

Draco mulls it over for a moment, then says casually, "Father, do you remember when we saw that shriveled old hand in Borgin and Burkes?"

Uncle Lucius furrows his brow. "The Hand of Glory, you mean?"

"Yes, that's it," Draco nods. "That's what I want."

Aunt Cissy starts to protest, but Uncle Lucius silences her with a look. "Very well, Draco," he says briskly. "We'll go tomorrow and pick it up. I have business at the Ministry, but your mother can take you and the girls and get your Hogwarts shopping done in the mean time."

Draco smiles smugly. It irritates me that he can't just ask for something normal and not ridiculously expensive; when Carina got her badge, all she wanted was a new, beautiful chess set, the pieces carved from marble – chess is a favorite games of hers. Costly, yes, but certainly not as pricey as a Hand of Glory.

"What sort of business do you have at the Ministry, Uncle Lucius?" Carina inquires innocently. Lyra glares at her callously, still hung up on the incident at her party.

"My business," Uncle Lucius replies shortly.

"May I come?"

I'm almost positive he will say no; Uncle Lucius does his best to keep us away from his work. What I don't expect is for him to say, "I rather think so, dear."

"What?" shrieks Draco indignantly, jumping to his feet. "Father! Why can't I go?"

"We've had this conversation, Draco," Uncle Lucius says, his tone dangerous. "It's none of your affair. When you come of age, _then_ we will discuss it."

"So just because she has the stupid Dark Mark now, Carina gets to do whatever she wants?" Draco whines, sounding not unlike a petulant child.

Carina grins. "Don't be jealous, Drakey."

"There's nothing to be jealous _of_," Lyra spits, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Carina turns her gaze on her. "Honestly, Lyra, your nasty attitude is getting a little old," she says, her eyes narrowed. "There's no need to be so resentful. I'm sure the Dark Lord will be happy to welcome you among us after you leave Hogwarts."

"Us?" Lyra repeats, her voice cold. "I've no desire to join you or anyone else who follows that deranged man."

Her words hit me like a slap to the face; it shocks me that she's admitted it out loud. Carina looks livid, but before she has time to speak, Aunt Cissy stands abruptly. "That's _enough_," she hisses for the second time, her eyes flashing, hands balled into fists. "I'm absolutely tired of this nonsense! Get out, the four of you, or we won't be going anywhere tomorrow!"

Lyra immediately gets to her feet and leaves the room, an uncomfortable tension in her wake. After a few moments, Carina flounces after her, leaving Draco and I to trail behind. "Lyra is so stupid," he mutters as we walk. "What does she think she's going to do, run off and join Precious Potter's lot? What on earth is she thinking?"

Deep down I know the answer, but a part of me won't let myself believe it. "I wish I knew," I murmur.

* * *

Aunt Narcissa heads off to Diagon Alley with Lyra and Draco the next day, while Uncle Lucius takes Carina and me with him to the Ministry. It was decided that splitting evenly would be the best course of action, though Draco moped for a good hour about not being the one to accompany his father and Carina to the Ministry. I'm not fooled by their excuse that "less of you kids in Diagon Alley will make the shopping go faster." They want to separate Lyra and Carina, calm Lyra down, pretend yesterday didn't happen, or that it was merely a result of tempers running too high.

If only that were a realistic possibility.

We arrive early at the Ministry, the halls already teeming with workers and visitors alike. Carina submits to the procedural wand check while Uncle Lucius chats with short, stumpy wizard. He's still talking when she finishes, so we wander over to the main hall's fountain, a sight that's never failed to impress me. "This money probably doesn't even go to St. Mungo's," Carina scoffs, glaring at the fountain statues with distaste.

I rummage in the pocket of my robes and pull out a few Sickles. "Where else would it go?" I respond, tossing them into the pool at the statues' feet.

Carina shrugs. "I don't know. I'm sure the Ministry just keeps it for their own purposes. It's what I would do."

Typical. Thankfully, Uncle Lucius wraps up his conversation with the wizard and strides over to us, saving me the trouble of having to argue with her further. "To the ninth level, ladies," he says, ushering us towards the lift. "The Minister is over that way; apparently Potter's trial just ended."

"Is he expelled?" asks Carina eagerly as we step into the lift, jostling the other witches and wizards, trying to make room to stand. She's never cared about the welfare of Harry Potter before. I wonder when she started.

Our uncle grimaces. "Cleared of all charges."

Carina frowns but says nothing. None of us speak again until the cool female voice in the lift announces we've reached the ninth level and we exit, the only ones to do so from the crowded lift. We instantly spot Cornelius Fudge at the end of the corridor, deep in conversation with a squat, flabby-faced witch, a black velvet bow perched atop her iron curls. She reminds me uncannily of a toad. "Cornelius," Uncle Lucius says genially, approaching the pair.

"Lucius!" the Minister greets him, wringing his hand firmly. "You're early, I see –" he pulls a watch out of his pocket and examines it. "Or, rather, I'm late. Do forgive me, Potter's trial ran a little longer than I expected –"

"Acquitted, Acton Krebhorn tells me," Uncle Lucius says scornfully.

Fudge smiles grimly. "Unfortunately, Dumbledore managed to present a somewhat convincing case to the Wizengamot…I, however, didn't believe a word of it –"

"Nor I, Minister," the witch simpers, her voice unexpectedly high and girly.

"Oh!" Fudge cries, as if he's just realized the witch is still present, "Please, excuse my lack of manners today – Lucius, this is Dolores Umbridge, the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Dolores, this is Lucius Malfoy, an old friend and generous donator to many Ministry causes."

"How very nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Umbridge says sweetly, offering her hand to Uncle Lucius, who takes it in his own and kisses it. She glances over at Carina and me. "And who are these lovely young ladies?"

"My eldest niece, Carina," Uncle Lucius motions to my sister, who inclines her head politely, "And the youngest one, Ara." I follow Carina's lead, simply bobbing my head as I'm introduced.

Umbridge gives us a wide smile, making her toad-like features even more prominent. "Charmed, I'm sure," she says. "Both of you are Hogwarts age, I presume?"

"I've already left, madam, but Ara will be entering her fifth year," Carina answers primly.

Umbridge continues to smile. It's rather sickening. "Wonderful."

"Just between us," Fudge butts in, his expression smug, "Dolores will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts this fall. See if we can't exercise some control over what goes on at that school."

Uncle Lucius nods approvingly. "Wise decision, Minister. I've always thought Dumbledore's many impetuous decisions rather a detriment to the education of our children."

Umbridge snorts. "Like hiring that repulsive werewolf, for example," she sneers. "And that oaf who calls himself a gamekeeper…really, the mere thought of it disgusts me." She shoots a glance at the watch Fudge still holds in his hand. "But I won't subject you to my numerous grievances on Hogwarts today, I do have a meeting to attend with Mafalda Hopkirk in about ten minutes." She flashes us another broad smile. "It was a pleasure meeting all of you. I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Ara."

I nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Umbridge bids Fudge farewell and disappears down the corridor. Fudge motions for us to follow him and begins walking in the opposite direction. "She's just what Hogwarts needs," he says confidently. "Knock some sense into both Potter and Dumbledore…dementors, I ask you! Trust Dumbledore to concoct such a ridiculous defense. It's pure luck Potter got off…really, Lucius, I'm afraid to see what kind of crackpot story the boy will come up with next –"

He stops abruptly, causing the three of us to nearly walk into him. I glance over Carina's shoulder and immediately spot the source of his sudden cease: Harry Potter has rounded the corner with a tall, balding man I instantly recognize as the father of the Weasley children. For a moment, all either group does is stare at the other. Harry's chest is heaving, his eyes wide. I'm certain he's remembering the last time he came face to face with my uncle: in a dark, desolate graveyard, surrounded by other Death Eaters. The night Cedric Diggory died.

The night the Dark Lord regained his body.

"Well, well, well…Patronus Potter," Uncle Lucius greets Harry coolly, his grey eyes narrowed. "The Minister was just telling me about your lucky escape. Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes…_snakelike_, in fact…"

Harry returns his glare; the Weasley man's grip on Harry's shoulder noticeably tightens. "Yeah, I'm good at escaping," Harry replies, somewhat defiantly, looking as if he'd like nothing more than to curse my uncle into oblivion.

Uncle Lucius smirks at him before turning his gaze onto Weasley. "And Arthur Weasley, too," he says, much too pleasantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here," Weasley says tersely.

Uncle Lucius rearranges his expression to one of surprise. "Not _here_, surely? I thought you were up on the second floor…don't you do something that involves sneaking Muggle artifacts home and bewitching them?"

"No," Weasley responds, his tone biting.

"What are _you_ doing here, anyway?" Harry asks scathingly.

"I don't think private matters between myself and the Minister are any concern of yours, Potter," my uncle says, smoothing the front of his robes, purposefully causing the gold in his pockets to clink softly. "Really, just because you are Dumbledore's favorite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us…shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?"

"Certainly," says Fudge, speaking for the first time throughout the encounter. "This way, Lucius." He leads us past them. I look back at the pair as we pass: Harry appears furious, his arms shaking; the Weasley man's face is almost as red as the small amount of remaining hair on his head.

"Muggle-loving fool," Uncle Lucius mutters when we're out of earshot. He falls into step with the Minister and they begin conversing in low voices about a new Ministry cause – something having to do with St. Mungo's – that my uncle has agreed to fund. They go over the particulars once we reach Fudge's office, haggling over how much money each different research area at the hospital should receive. Carina and I entertain ourselves by gossiping with the portraits on Fudge's walls and examining the numerous awards Fudge has pinned in obvious sight to anyone who walks in his office.

Finally, over an hour later, the two men stand and shake hands. The point of Carina and I accompanying our uncle to this meeting is lost on me; we gained absolutely nothing from it, save for the knowledge of who will be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this upcoming school year. My sister and I bid Fudge goodbye in turn and Uncle Lucius leads us from the office, taking us down the same path that brought us to it. "Where are we going?" I ask suspiciously. This isn't the first time my uncle has brought me to the Ministry, and I'm almost positive that the way back to the main hall is opposite of the direction we're currently taking.

"I have one more matter to attend to before we leave," Uncle Lucius responds, offering no further explanation. Carina looks unsurprised, as if she knows exactly what's going on. I just shrug and continue to follow them.

We stop when we're back on the ninth level – the Department of Mysteries. The corridor is deserted, and I don't understand what type of business my uncle can have in an empty hallway. He narrows his eyes slightly as he strolls over towards a plain black door, appearing as if he merely wants to examine it.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

It's not my uncle who has drawn his wand, but my sister, her eyes glittering as her spell makes contact with a heavy – and apparently invisible – object that falls to the floor at Uncle Lucius' feet. Uncle Lucius folds his arms and glares at Carina. "Patience is clearly not your virtue," he says disdainfully.

Carina returns his glare. "I knew he was there, what's the point in – ?"

"You were entirely obvious about what you were going to do!" Uncle Lucius counters. "Had Dumbledore assigned a more competent guard, you would have handed them a split second advantage to attack you back! Furthermore, you gave absolutely no regard to whether or not we were going to be disturbed, anyone in the world could have come walking round that corner – "

"Oh, please, it's the Department of Mysteries," Carina shoots back. "People rarely ever come up here –"

"Excuse me," I interrupt, confused beyond belief, "But what's going on?"

Both of them stare at me as if they've only just realized I'm still there. After a moment, Uncle Lucius bends down and seemingly grasps mere air, but when he pulls back, a fluid, silvery Invisibility Cloak is in his hand and a paralyzed, shocked looking man is lying on the ground. "Sturgis Podmore," my uncle sneers, giving the wizard a look of utmost distaste. "Member of Dumbledore's band of fools that refer to themselves as the Order of the Phoenix."

Carina keeps her wand pointed at the wizard; his small, beady eyes dart back and forth between her and my uncle. "Can I do it now?" she asks impatiently.

Uncle Lucius sighs. "Fine. Be quick about it before your carelessness gets us caught."

Carina grins and performs a tricky little wave with her wand. Show off. She aims directly at Sturgis Podmore and hisses firmly, "_Imperio_."

At once, the man's pupils glaze over, as if all thought has left his brain. Carina is still smiling, a twisted sort of grin that unnerves me. With a flick of her wand, Podmore stands up, takes the Invisibility Cloak back from Uncle Lucius, and throws it back over his head. Instantly he disappears.

"What are you ordering him to do?" Uncle Lucius asks, frowning.

"Go on as normal."

"How did you even know he was there?" I ask, amazed.

"The Dark Lord knows Dumbledore has spies in the Ministry," Uncle Lucius explains. "It's all a matter of knowing where they're hiding."

I furrow my brow. "Arthur Weasley's a spy, though, isn't he? He's not hiding –"

"It's the _guards_ that hide, not the _spies_," Carina interrupts, jabbing her wand again, and I hear the heavy clunk of footsteps as Sturgis Podmore resumes his post.

"What does he need guards for?"

Uncle Lucius considers me a moment before speaking. "The Dark Lord…wants something," he says carefully. "Something Dumbledore is determined to prevent him from obtaining." He turns to Carina. "Are you certain he is completely under your control?"

"Yes."

Uncle Lucius nods approvingly. "Then let's go. The Dark Lord does not want him ordered about until he wishes it." He starts in the direction of the lift, beckoning us to follow him.

"What does the Dark Lord want?" I inquire as we step into the lift, which is thankfully empty. For every bit of information they give me, a thousand new questions form in my mind.

"Put it from your mind," Carina answers breezily, as if the topic is now closed.

I give her an angry look. Her superior attitude is beginning to irk me. "You know, I'm not Lyra, you don't have to treat me as if I'm some sort of child –"

"Hush, Ara," my uncle scolds as the lift clangs to a halt in the main foyer. We step out into the hall, immediately spotting Arthur Weasley a few feet away – minus Harry Potter – deep in conversation with a tall, black wizard. He catches Uncle Lucius' gaze and glowers. Uncle Lucius takes my hand in his, squeezing tightly as he leads us towards a Floo station. "You never know who's listening."

* * *

Some dialogue is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, pages 154-155.

It would make my day if you'd review!


	6. Know the Perils, Read the Signs

**A/N: **Most of this chapter is just filler information – basically what happens when they get to Hogwarts in OotP, but through Ara's point of view. Plus, you get to meet her friends, who are going to be important characters as the story develops. So if you find it kind of boring, I apologize, but sometimes filler is just necessary!

I'll try and update again soon, but no promises, school just keeps me so ridiculously busy!

**Ella Rosier** and **Whisperheart **– Don't worry, Mummy will make her appearance eventually! I can't wait to get to that chapter. Thanks for your reviews, they made me so happy!

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Know the Perils, Read the Signs**

The morning of September 1 arrives much too quickly for my liking. "Train leaves in an hour!" Lyra announces cheerfully, barging into my room and perching herself on my bed. She shakes me roughly. "Hurry up, sleepyhead, breakfast will be ready soon!"

I grumble in annoyance but force myself to sit up. Lyra grins and pulls me to my feet, apparently hoping her enthusiasm will catch on. "For Merlin's sake, Lyra, leave me alone," I mutter, pushing her away and, in my early morning stupor, swaying stupidly on my feet. "Just because you can't wait to rush back into homework and exams doesn't mean we all share the same sentiment."

Lyra chuckles and grabs onto my shoulders, steadying me. "You'll be grateful for me once we start classes," she says, heading towards the door. "You have O.W.L.s this year. Trust me, fifth year is an absolute nightmare."

"Yeah, I think I remember you threatening to curse anyone who breathed too loudly in the common room. Very Hermione Granger-ish. She would have been proud."

"Granger isn't that bad," Lyra answers crossly. "At least she knows where her priorities lie. You could do with taking a lesson from her."

I've rarely spoken to Hermione Granger, but Draco despises her for being a Muggle – as well as one of Harry Potter's best friends – and the thought of his jeering remarks if he ever caught me conversing with her is enough to keep me away. "Whatever, Lyra," I mumble, shuffling towards my closet and nearly tripping over my trunk. "Just go away. I'll be down in a moment."

* * *

The Hogwarts Express stretches before us like a great, scarlet snake; billowing smoke and nearly bursting with students. Uncle Lucius scans the crowd, his eyes narrowed; Aunt Cissy fusses over us, alternating between straightening Draco's tie and brushing the hair out of my eyes. "Get off me, Mother, I'm not a child," Draco snaps, jerking out of his mother's grasp as she makes yet another go for his tie. "Good God, I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Draco, just hold still for a moment, you keep loosening it –"

"Then don't tie it so tightly that I can't breathe!"

"Mind your mother, Draco," Uncle Lucius admonishes, though with no real conviction in his voice; his grey eyes are fixed on a point in the distance. I follow his gaze but see nothing of interest – timid-looking first years exchanging anxious farewells with their parents, students heaving trunks onto the train, owls hooting indignantly from their cages. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Why didn't Carina come with us?" Draco asks suspiciously, folding his arms. Aunt Narcissa has given up on him and moved onto me, fretting over my bangs. Her hovering irritates me but I bite my tongue. It's easier than putting up a fight.

Uncle Lucius seems to come back down to earth at his words. "She had something to do this morning," he answers quickly, turning back to us. "She's sorry to miss you, but she wishes the three of you the best of luck this year."

"My ass," Draco's mutters to me, as Uncle Lucius once again trains his sight on the apparently captivating horizon. Aunt Cissy and Lyra have begun to argue over the state of Lyra's robes. "She's doing something for the Dark Lord, I'll bet you."

I roll my eyes. "Why do you always jump to conclusions?"

"Why do you always insist on proving me wrong?"

What a prat. "You never have any real evidence to back up your claims!" I hiss angrily. "So you were right about Carina taking the Mark. Big deal. You only knew because you have nothing better to do than spy on your mother."

Draco smirks, infuriating me further. "How do you know I didn't spy on her again?" he asks casually. "Really, Ara, I'd think you'd know by now to take my word on these kinds of things. Would I ever lie to you?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

Draco has the nerve to look hurt, but Aunt Cissy unwittingly cuts him off before he can speak. "Onto the train then, my dears, you don't want to be late," she says, holding her arms out to us. She presses Lyra and me to her tightly, as if she doesn't want to let go. Finally, she releases us and seizes Draco, who grimaces in her stranglehold. "Honestly, Mother," he sneers, pulling away and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "It's the same thing every year. Get a grip on yourself."

"Draco," Uncle Lucius says warningly, kissing Lyra and I in turn. He claps his son on the shoulder and shakes him gently. "Study hard this year. I won't tolerate that Mudblood girl surpassing you in every exam again."

I chuckle. "She's beaten him every year. I doubt this one will be any exception."

"The same goes for you, too, Ara," my uncle adds firmly, effectively quelling my laughter. Draco grins haughtily. "You're purebloods. No filthy Muggle is going to best my children, especially in their O.W.L. year."

"Can't you harp on Lyra for a change?" I grumble, crossing my arms.

"Lyra's already the best in her year," Aunt Narcissa replies proudly, smoothing a lock of my sister's hair. "We've no need to worry about her." Her expression turns grave. "Just be careful this year, my darlings."

Uncle Lucius nods in agreement. "Be wary of who you speak to and what you confide in them," he cautions. He jerks his head in the direction he'd been staring in earlier. "Look over there. Do you see that dog with Potter and his ridiculous band of Mudblood-lovers?"

Draco, Lyra, and I crane our necks to look. Harry Potter stands with the Weasley clan and a few others I don't recognize. A large, shaggy black dog is gamboling around them, barking happily. "Yes," Lyra answers for us, turning back to our uncle. "Why?"

Uncle Lucius frowns. "That's Sirius Black," he says, his distaste evident. "Potter's godfather. He's an Animagus. His disguise is useless, of course, as the Dark Lord has been made aware of it, but it would be wise to exercise caution in your dealings with Potter. I wouldn't put it past him to somehow try and sneak Black into the school. It would be highly detrimental for us if the Order were to gain any information on the Dark Lord's progress."

The name rings a bell in my mind. "Sirius Black, the one locked up in Azkaban?" I ask, curious.

"Formerly locked up in Azkaban," Uncle Lucius corrects through gritted teeth.

"Did he know Aunt Bellatrix?" Draco inquires, voicing my unspoken thought. "He's a Black, we must be related to him somehow."

My aunt and uncle endured the same round of questioning when Black escaped from Azkaban in my third year; they successfully avoided answering most questions about him or any of his possible encounters with my mother during his time in prison. This time, however, Aunt Narcissa hesitantly throws us a bone: "He's my cousin." She pauses, mulling over whether or not to give us a little bit more. Ultimately, she decides she's said enough on the matter, for the next words out of her mouth are: "Onto the train, now. If you've forgotten anything we'll send it along."

It's no use quarrelling; we're about to be late, anyway – doors are shutting up and down the train. "We'll write," Lyra promises, as Aunt Cissy gives each of us another quick hug. She grasps the handle of her trunk and starts towards the train. "Come on, Ara, Draco."

Draco obliges without argument. "Have Carina write us, too," I add, turning to follow my sister and cousin.

Aunt Cissy nods. I'm distracted for a moment, trying to avoid running into an overexcited group of first years, and when I look back she and my uncle are gone, already Disapparated back to the manor. "Watch it!" Draco snaps rudely to the first years. "Lucky you aren't in a House yet, I'd have fifty points apiece from each of you!"

"Prefects can't take points, you idiot," I tell him, as the first years turn red and stammer apologies before hurrying away.

"_They_ don't know that," Draco replies smugly, fingering the prefect badge on his chest. Bullying first years, another lovely quality to add to his growing list of admirable traits.

We lug our trunks onto the train, clambering awkwardly into the corridor alongside several other students attempting to find compartments. Draco shoves Abraxas' cage into my arms and orders me to hold onto him before heading off toward the compartment reserved for prefects. Lyra instantly spots a few of her seventh year Slytherin friends in the crowded corridor and hurries off to join them without so much as a backward glance. Irritated, I shift Abraxas' cage in my arms and attempt to grab the handle of my trunk.

"Need a hand?"

I look up, startled. Anthony is standing in front of me, smiling pleasantly, and this time thankfully not under the influence of the Imperius Curse. "Thanks," I respond gratefully, allowing him to take over my trunk. "Draco ran off and ordered me to take Abraxas. I guess as an almighty prefect now it's his privilege to delegate unwanted tasks to us peons."

Anthony laughs. "He'd get along well with my older sister; she was a prefect too and treated me like her own personal servant." He glances around the corridor. "Did you have a certain compartment you were headed towards? We're kind of in the way here…"

"Oh! Sorry," I apologize, as Abraxas gives a low hoot. "My friends and I usually sit in the same one, it's a little ways down…"

Anthony nods. "Lead the way."

I guide him down the aisle, trying as best I can to avoid jostling the other students passing by. Finally, I stop at a compartment about halfway down the corridor, peering inside to make sure it's right one. "Alright, this is the one," I tell him, taking Abraxas' cage in one arm and pulling the door open with the other. "Thanks so much for your help, I really appreciate it –"

"ARA!"

I'm cut off midsentence as a loud, red-headed something barrels into me, squeezing me so tightly I can practically hear my ribs crack. Abraxas, unprepared for the sudden charge, screeches furiously and flaps around in his cage. "Oh, Ara, I'm sorry I didn't write to you much over the summer, Australia was just simply _amazing_ and I was outside most of the time, exploring and taking in all the sights, you know, and –"

"Cass…really…it's okay," I manage to choke out. "You're…you're crushing me, Cass…"

Cassandra Moneroy instantly steps back, grinning widely, her deep red curls bouncing off her back. "Sorry," she says, in a tone that suggests just the opposite. "You know me." She takes notice of Anthony. "Abarca! Long time no see."

"Much too long for me, Cassie," Anthony replies, in a voice of mock sadness. "I must admit, my holiday just wasn't the same without your quick wit and sarcastic comments." He turns back to me. "Are you alright from here?"

"Yeah, I've got it," I answer, handing Abraxas to Cassie. "Thanks again."

"Anytime," Anthony says congenially, smiling. "I'll see you around." He takes off down the corridor and disappears into a compartment near the back.

The moment he's gone, Cassie squeals loudly and digs her nails into my arm. "Why didn't you tell me you guys were dating?" she asks excitedly, allowing me to step inside the compartment before her.

My mouth falls open in shock. Cass has been known to largely over exaggerate things, and this time is obviously no exception. "_Dating_?" I repeat, bewildered. "Dating? I don't know what on earth you're talking about –"

"You're dating someone?" interrupts the petite blonde sitting by the window, jumping to her feet and staring at me.

"Not just _someone_, Mad," Cassie taunts, following me into the compartment and shutting the door. "It's _Anthony Abarca_."

Madeleine Abgrall's eyes widen. "No! Anthony Abarca?"

Honestly. You'd think a boy having a crush on me was some life altering event. Not that Anthony _does_ have a crush on me, or I on him – we're just friends. I've always been "Lyra's little sister" to him, and that's probably what I'll be for the rest of our lives. "I'm not dating Anthony," I say firmly, dragging my trunk underneath the seat and taking Abraxas' cage back from Cassie. I open the door and coax him out onto my arm, knowing he's more than likely sick of being trapped. "That's just Cassie making up stories as usual."

"But he helped you with your stuff," Cassie points out, throwing herself into a seat and propping her feet up on the one opposite her. "He obviously likes you."

"Oh, honestly, he was being nice."

"He's cute, too," Madeleine adds, as if I haven't even spoken. She pushes Cassie's feet aside and resumes her seat. "I definitely approve, Ara."

"We're _not_ dating!" I snap, sitting down next to Cassie and opening the window for Abraxas to fly out. "And that's the end of it!"

"Alright, alright," Cassie retorts carelessly, twirling a curl around her finger. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

I sigh in exasperation, but can't stay mad for long; the happiness over being united with my two best friends after a summer apart is much too great. "So, how were your holidays?"

Cassie slumps down in her seat and begins to examine her nails. "Well, as I was saying before, Australia was absolutely fantastic. I don't think I was bored a moment I was there. Royce was a great big prat the entire time, though."

Royce is Cassie's older brother, just graduated from Hogwarts last term. "What did he do?" I ask, interested. Royce, in my opinion, is a fairly boring and dull topic – not much unlike Percy Weasley or Elliot Ryeland – but Cassie has a talent for turning even the most boring tale into a heart-stopping thriller.

Cass rolls her eyes. "The usual. Acted as if he were a walking encyclopedia for all things Australian. Lecturing us on the geography and Muggle attractions and whatnot. Jayden and I were planning to 'accidentally' knock him off a cliff into the ocean, but Mum caught us." Jayden is Cassie's other brother, a mischievous second year far less irritating to Cassie than Royce.

"Tough luck," I say sympathetically.

"Thanks. I rather thought so."

I giggle and turn to my other friend. "How was France, Mad?"

Madeleine sits up a little straighter and crosses her legs primly at the ankles. "_Très charmante_," she answers, her pronunciation flawless. Mad and her older sister Ariane were born in London, but her parents are French natives. They spend a good amount of their summer holiday every year vacationing and visiting relatives in France.

Cassie rolls her eyes. "In English, please, Lady Marianne."

Madeleine folds her arms – she hates when Cassie refers to her as "Lady Marianne," a national emblem of liberty and reason in France. "Very charming," she obliges through gritted teeth.

"Mer-see bow-coo," Cassie responds lightly, horribly butchering the words. Madeleine looks scandalized. Cass ignores her and goes on: "So, Ara, how were things at the Malfoy abode this summer?"

I shrug. "As well as they ever are, I suppose."

"I'm sorry I missed Carina's party," Madeleine apologizes.

"Yeah, me too," Cassie adds.

I lean my head against the cool window pane and watch as the landscape flies by. "It's alright. Nothing too interesting went on, anyhow."

As purebloods, the Moneroys and Abgralls are always invited to Malfoy gatherings, but this is one year I'm glad neither of my best friends could make it. They would have been Obliviated, of course, had they witnessed the scene between Carina and the Dark Lord, and it isn't something I'm raring to divulge, even to my closest friends. I debate whether or not I want to disclose it to them, but Uncle Lucius' parting words echo in my mind: "_Be wary of who you speak to and what you confide in them_." I bite my lip, but make my decision: Cassie and Madeleine are better off not knowing. Besides, they'll find out eventually…

And I want to keep the Dark Lord away from our friendship for as long as possible.

I suppose I should feel lucky Cassie and Madeleine even speak to me at all. Carina took the brunt of the suspicion and mistrust of us when she started at Hogwarts; and when Lyra came along two years later, she got some of it as well, but I received almost nothing. Then again, that was the year Harry Potter came to school, and most of the focus shifted to him. Cassie and Madeleine have always stood by me – even when they learned I was the daughter of a brutal Death Eater – and I hate keeping secrets from them, but…this just isn't the same. My sister is now the servant of a dark wizard Cass and Mad aren't even aware has returned – unless, of course, they believe Harry and Dumbledore. If I vouch for them, I'll be labeled crazy, too.

"Did you see the _Daily Prophet's_ latest go at Harry Potter?" Cassie asks conversationally, as if she's read my mind. "They're a bit nasty, but I can't say I don't agree with them; the boy's obviously gone loony."

"Yeah, claiming that the Dark Lord is back," Madeleine chimes in. "It's ridiculous. He just wants attention."

I'm determined to prevent further conversation on Harry Potter or the Dark Lord immediately. "Couldn't agree more," I say airily, the lie slipping out so easily, when all I truly want to do is blurt the truth. "Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, guess who's a prefect this year – our dear Drakey. It's unbelievable, really…"

We chatter aimlessly for awhile, until the witch with the trolley cart comes around and we order a large assortment of sweets to keep us tied over until the welcoming feast. Cassie and I entertain ourselves with several games of wizards' chess, while Madeleine gets lost in a book entitled _Quidditch Through the Ages _– she's a huge fan of the sport. It seems like in no time at all the train is slowing down, darkness enveloping the corridors, the lamps on the wall casting an eerie glow. Up and down the corridor comes the racket of students gathering their possessions and preparing for departure. Cass, Mad, and I follow suit, stepping into the aisle as the train makes a complete stop.

I can see Draco near the front of the train, berating what looks like a small, fearful first year. "Git," I mutter to myself, hitching Abraxas' cage up a little higher. The owl has been missing for the entire journey, but I'm not alarmed; he usually heads straight for Hogwarts' Owlery after hunting. Spending hours on the Hogwarts Express doesn't appeal to him, evidently.

My friends and I exit the train and step onto the platform, the cool night air stinging our nostrils. "First years this way, please!" calls a commanding voice, one I am not used to hearing – after a moment, Professor Grubbly-Plank comes into view, holding a lantern above her head. "First years over here!"

"Where's Hagrid?" asks Madeleine curiously, staring at Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Who cares," responds Cassie unconcernedly, heading for the carriages. "Grubbly-Plank's a better teacher than he'll ever be. I might actually get something above a P on a Care of Magical Creatures exam this year if she's staying."

"Moneroy, you'll be lucky if you get anything above a P in _any_ of your subjects this term!"

I recognize the voice immediately and groan. Cassie just smirks and begins to climb into one of the carriages. "Parkinson," she says, sticking her head back out, "I doubt you even know what a P looks like. I've seen all those T's; there's enough to wallpaper our dormitory with."

"Ha, ha, you're a riot, Cassandra," Pansy snaps, her pug-like face drawn into a frown. She pushes Madeleine and me aside and follows Cassie into the carriage. "Move over, Daphne and I are sitting with you."

Daphne Greengrass – Pansy's best friend and a certified bitch, just like her – trails after Pansy snootily, her light brown hair rippling down her back as she climbs in. Daphne, I hate to admit, is extremely beautiful, and she's probably the most popular girl in our year. I've never quite understood why she ever decided to befriend a highly unattractive, arrogant twit like Pansy, but I suppose Pansy's countless unappealing qualities make Daphne look that much better. It's astonishing that Cass, Madeleine, and I have managed to share a dormitory with the pair of them for four years without bloodshed.

We sit in silence, Cassie and Pansy glowering at each other, Daphne examining her reflection in a tiny, handheld mirror, and Madeleine and I trying to avoid looking at each other for fear of bursting into laughter. Finally, the carriages jerk to a stop at the front gate, and Pansy and Daphne thankfully exit first, arms linked as they head towards the castle.

The beauty of Hogwarts never ceases to amaze me; a vast, magnificent castle with many towers and turrets. Cassie, Madeleine, and I follow the crowd of students through the oak front doors and into the Great Hall, where the four House tables are already set for the feast. "I'm starving," Cassie groans as we take seats on the bench, across from Lyra and a few of her friends, including Madeleine's sister, Ariane. "The Hat better be quick with the Sorting this year; I might just start chewing on the tablecloth."

Lyra rolls her eyes. "Very nice, Cassie."

"Just stating the truth of the matter, Lyra."

Madeleine points towards the staff table. "Who's that?"

Automatically we all turn in the direction she's indicating. Seated at the staff table is Dolores Umbridge, a truly terrible Alice band in her hair and a pink cardigan over her robes. Her pallid expression reminds me even more heavily of a toad. "Her name's Dolores Umbridge," I answer, mindlessly tapping my fingers on my plate. "She's the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. I met her when Uncle Lucius and I were at the Ministry one day. She's going to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"She looks like a toad," Cassie says bluntly.

Glad I'm not the only one who has that sentiment.

The chatter in the room starts to fade away as Professor McGonagall leads a long line of nervous-looking first years into the Hall, a scroll clutched in her hand. Professor Flitwick places a three-legged stool in front of the staff table, followed by the ragged and patched Sorting Hat. After a moment's pause, the brim of the Hat opens wide:

"_In times of old, when I was new,  
And Hogwarts barely started,  
The founders of our noble school  
Thought never to be parted.  
United by a common goal,  
They had the selfsame yearning  
To make the world's best magic school  
And pass along their learning.  
"Together we will build and teach"  
The four good friends decided.  
And never did they dream that they  
Might some day be divided.  
For were there such friends anywhere  
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
Unless it was the second pair  
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,  
So how could it have gone so wrong?  
How could such friendships fail?  
Why, I was there, so I can tell  
The whole sad, sorry tale.  
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those  
Whose ancestry's purest."  
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose  
Intelligence is surest."  
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those  
With brave deeds to their name."  
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot  
And treat them just the same."  
These differences caused little strife  
When first they came to light.  
For each of the four founders had  
A house in which they might  
Take only those they wanted, so,  
For instance, Slytherin  
Took only pure-blood wizards  
Of great cunning just like him.  
And only those of sharpest mind  
Were taught by Ravenclaw  
While the bravest and the boldest  
Went to daring Gryffindor.  
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest  
and taught them all she knew,  
Thus, the houses and their founders  
Maintained friendships firm and true.  
So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
for several happy years,  
but then discord crept among us  
feeding on our faults and fears.  
The Houses that, like pillars four  
had once held up our school  
now turned upon each other and  
divided, sought to rule.  
And for a while it seemed the school  
must meet an early end.  
what with dueling and with fighting  
and the clash of friend on friend.  
And at last there came a morning  
when old Slytherin departed  
and though the fighting then died out  
he left us quite downhearted.  
And never since the founders four  
were whittled down to three  
have the Houses been united  
as they once were meant to be.  
And now the Sorting Hat is here  
and you all know the score:  
I sort you into Houses  
because that is what I'm for.  
But this year I'll go further,  
listen closely to my song:  
though condemned I am to split you  
still I worry that it's wrong,  
Though I must fulfill my duty  
and must quarter every year  
still I wonder whether sorting  
may not bring the end I fear.  
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
the warning history shows,  
for our Hogwarts is in danger  
from external, deadly foes  
And we must unite inside her  
or we'll crumble from within  
I have told you, I have warned you...  
let the Sorting now begin."_

Applause breaks out at the end of the Sorting Hat's song, but it is scattered, hesitant; Lyra gives me a puzzled look that I interpret perfectly: since when has the Hat offered advice to the school?

Professor McGonagall quells the whispering that has started up amongst the students with one fierce look. When there is once again complete silence, she unfurls the scroll and stretches it in front of her: "Abercrombie, Euan."

A red-faced boy stumbles out of line and perches himself apprehensively on the stool. Professor McGonagall places the Hat on his head, and though it takes a minute deciding, it eventually declares him a Gryffindor. The Gryffindor table erupts in applause as Euan Abercrombie joins them, looking as if he wants nothing more than to disappear into thin air.

The Sorting seems to drag on much longer than usual, and Cassie's patience is wearing thin next to me. Lyra pays close attention, while Madeleine's eyes occasionally glaze over. Down the table I can see Draco practicing making the salt shaker hover, much to the amusement of Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini. He levitates it above Astoria Greengrass – Daphne's younger sister – with every apparent intention of pouring it into her hair, but I catch his eye and frown. He grins but obliges with my silent request, sending the salt shaker back to its proper place.

Finally, the Sorting ends, and the feast begins – absolutely filling and scrumptious as every year. "The Hat was a bit off today," Cassie says thoughtfully through a mouthful of turkey.

Madeleine and Ariane, raised to display a sufficient amount of etiquette and courtesy at all times, give her a disgusted look.

Cassie swallows and goes on, paying them no notice. "I mean, I can't remember it ever trying to warn us before. Bit odd."

The girl to the right of Lyra – Eleanor Richter, one of Lyra's best friends – shrugs and reaches for another helping of potatoes. "I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. It probably just thought it needed to change things up a tad this year. It always talks about the same bloody things."

"It's supposed to, El," Ariane replies. "Its job is to describe the Houses, not toss out words of wisdom to the school."

Talk over the Hat continues for a few more minutes, but dessert then appears, proving a much more interesting distraction for my Housemates. Lyra and I seem to be the only ones still troubled by the Hat's words, knowing exactly what they entail. My sister gives me a knowing look, but I avoid her eyes and concentrate on my treacle tart. I'm not in the mood to deal with her views on the Dark Lord and Death Eaters and Carina and any of that other nonsense tonight.

By now, most of the students have finished dessert; the chatter in the hall is beginning to spread rapidly again. It ceases almost instantly when Dumbledore gets to his feet, his arms open in welcome, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Well now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of term notices," he says, his voice echoing throughout the Hall. "First years ought to know that the forest is out of bounds to students – and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too." The Weasley twins smirk mischievously over at the Gryffindor table. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Applause breaks out for the two new teachers, though it is rather unenthusiastic, particularly from the Gryffindor table. Dumbledore doesn't seem to notice as he goes on: "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the –"

He abruptly stops speaking, looking questioningly at Professor Umbridge. For a moment, I'm not sure why he's stopped talking, but then a tiny, "_Hem, hem,"_ escapes from Umbridge's mouth, and it's obvious that she's gotten to her feet with the intention of making a speech.

We stare in shock as the Headmaster resumes his seat smartly and stares pointedly at Umbridge, as if listening to her talk will be some sort of treat. All around the Hall students are whispering to each other, appalled at her blatant interruption of the Headmaster. The occupants of the staff table appear just as aghast; Professor McGonagall is frowning heavily, Professor Sprout's eyebrows have risen so high they're nearly hidden by her hair, and tiny Professor Flitwick has his eyes narrowed, arms crossed tightly.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," Umbridge simpers. She gives another little cough before continuing. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

I glance around the Slytherin table, noting that none of the faces near me look even remotely close to happy. From what I can see, the same is true at the other House tables. "What are we, three years old?" Cass mutters disdainfully, as Umbridge plows on with her speech, a mechanical, somewhat rehearsed tone in her next words.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…"

I feel my attention slipping, and a glance around the Hall tells me I'm not the only one. The teachers, however, seem to be listening with rapt attention, as does Hermione Granger over at the Gryffindor table, though her expression is one of intense distaste. The look on Lyra's face reflects Hermione's, and she clenches the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turn white.

"…because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas other, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

Umbridge sits down. Dumbledore begins clapping, followed reluctantly by the staff members and a limited number of the student body. Before half of the room realizes Umbridge's speech has actually ended, Dumbledore gets to his feet and faces Umbridge: "Thank you, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he says politely, bowing to her. He turns back to the students. "Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held…"

"Miserable old cow," Lyra hisses indignantly, her hands now balled into fists. At our quizzical looks, she frowns. "Didn't any of you listen to what she was saying?"

"No," choruses Cassie, Madeleine, Ariane, Eleanor, and I.

Lyra sighs. "Of course not."

"So what's it mean?" asks Cassie.

Lyra takes a sip of water before answering. "It means the Ministry is going to try and meddle in Hogwarts' affairs."

"Dumbledore would never allow it," Madeleine says promptly. "He's not going to let just anyone march in here and tell him how to run his school."

I glance up at the staff table, where Umbridge is surveying the students, her pouchy eyes traveling from table to table. "Yes, but Fudge seemed extremely confident in her when I met her at the Ministry," I say. "And with the Ministry's backing, I don't know how long Dumbledore would be able to fight it."

"Especially since the Ministry thinks he's mental," Eleanor puts in.

Further speculation is cut off as Dumbledore nears the end of his notices: "And now, it is time for sleep, for you will need every ounce of energy you can muster tomorrow! To bed, now, pip pip!"

The room seems to rise as one, the students eager to get into the warm, four-poster beds waiting for them in their dormitories. My friends and I make our way towards the dungeons, full and sleepy. "_Amor fati_," Eleanor, the only prefect among us, tells the blank stretch of damp wall that hides the Slytherin common room. It grants us entrance, and we head for the stairs immediately, intent upon changing into our pajamas and climbing into bed as soon as possible.

Daphne and Pansy are already in the dormitory when Cassie, Madeleine, and I arrive, decorating their walls with pictures and throwing things haphazardly out of their trunks. "Watch where you're tossing that crap," Cassie orders, picking up a couple of Pansy's blouses and dropping them on the floor. "I don't want your _diseased_ possessions on my bed."

Pansy straightens up from her trunk, hands on her hips. "Diseased?" she repeats. "What the hell's that supposed to mean, Moneroy?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know, Parkinson," Cassie replies snottily. Pansy is known for being rather promiscuous with boys, her latest victim appearing to be my cousin. Revolting.

Pansy, furious, opens her mouth to retort, but Daphne silences her from across the room. "Shut up, the pair of you. I'm tired and I don't want to hear your ridiculous bickering tonight."

Pansy gives Cassie an ugly look and continues unpacking. Cass snorts and changes into her pajamas, then gets into bed and pulls the hangings of her four-poster around her violently. Madeleine and I follow suit, listening to the sounds of Pansy and Daphne unpacking around us.

I'm too tired to unpack; I'll do it tomorrow. I lie quietly in bed, wondering what tomorrow will bring, trying to push the words of the Sorting Hat into some distant chamber of my brain. But it doesn't work, and Lyra's face keeps swimming to the surface of my mind, troubled and anxious, that Hat's lyrics echoing in my dreams: "_Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows, for our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes…"_

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Reviews make my day!


	7. Classes, Quidditch, & Confusion, Oh My!

**A/N: **I forgot to mention this last time, but some of the dialogue in the last chapter is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not sure of the exact pages, as I don't have the book right in front of me, but some of the dialogue from that chapter – as well as this one – was taken from there.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This chapter has some filler in it as well, but hopefully it's entertaining filler, lol. I promise everything I write has a reason and is necessary to the plot of the story.

That being said, I hope you continue to stick with me, and enjoy this next chapter!

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**Chapter 6 – Classes, Quidditch, and Confusion, Oh My!**

"The Ordinary Wizarding Level," begins Professor McGonagall on Monday morning, gazing sternly around the classroom, "is one of the most important examinations you will take here at Hogwarts. A substantial amount of effort and hard work is required to achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration, and I expect nothing less than an 'Acceptable' grade from each of my students."

I hear a snort come from the back of the room, accompanied by some indistinct muttering, though the word "Longbottom" carries clearly to the front.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asks loudly, glaring at my cousin.

Every head in the room swivels towards Draco. "Not at all, Professor," he responds carelessly, leaning back in his chair and grinning idiotically at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Then you will kindly refrain from speaking when I am addressing the class," McGonagall says tartly, her beady eyes narrowed. She glances around the room once more and continues on: "As I was saying, I see no reason why anyone in this class should not obtain an O.W.L. in Transfiguration. As long as you practice and put in the work, there is nothing on the exam you shouldn't be able to handle. Today, then, we will be working on a spell that oftentimes comes up in the O.W.L., the Vanishing Spell." Her gaze travels to the back of the room again, where Draco has resumed his hushed conversation with Crabbe and Goyle. "Malfoy! Since you're obviously in a rather talkative frame of mind today, I take it you're prepared to participate! Tell me, what incantation is required to Vanish an object?"

Draco pauses, his face blank. "_Vanishio_?" he suggests tentatively, as if adding a little "flair" onto the end of the word Vanish will somehow transform it into a spell.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Malfoy, and if I have to break up what I'm certain is a highly interesting discussion between the three of you again, it will be detention," McGonagall barks, her irritation obvious. She nods at Madeleine. "Miss Abgrall, dare I ask you for the answer?"

Madeleine bites her lip, racking her brain. "_Evanesco_," she says finally, sounding fairly confident in her answer.

McGonagall's mouth is set in a thin line. "Thank you, Miss Abgrall, for that fine, educated guess," she says sardonically, beckoning to Pansy and pointing at a box on her desk. "Miss Parkinson, please take this box of snails and hand one to each student." Pansy grimaces but obeys. "We'll be starting with small creatures; hence, the invertebrate snail. Now, watch the movement of my wand, it is critical to successfully Vanishing your target."

The rest of the lesson drags by. I'm unable to Vanish my snail, as is the rest of the class – save for Daphne, who manages it with about ten minutes of class left to go. "Bloody ridiculous amount of homework," grumbles Cass as we leave the classroom, McGonagall's orders to practice the spell for next class still ringing in our ears. "How are we supposed to come up with twelve inches on the properties of Vanishing spells? It vanishes things! What more is there to know?"

Madeleine shrugs. "The underlying principles of it, I suppose," she answers, as we round a corner and head towards the dungeons for Potions. "Wand movement and voice intonation, for instance."

"Like that'll fill up an entire roll of parchment," Cassie sneers, as her younger brother and a few of his second year friends pass us in the corridor. "Think fast, Cass!" he yells, pelting a wad of rolled up parchment at her.

Cassie catches it easily and crumples it in her hand. "Very mature, Jayden," she spits after him as he and his friends continue on, laughing. She tosses the parchment in her bag and makes a _tsk_ sound with her tongue. "What an idiot, honestly. That's not even a funny prank, throwing parchment."

"He's twelve, Cass," I remind her as we join the line of students outside of Snape's classroom. "He doesn't know what the word 'maturity' means."

"Apparently," Cassie says acidly as Snape's classroom door creaks open. We file in behind the Gryffindors, a few of whom are discussing in whispers what they think Snape will set us for the first lesson of the year. My friends and I take our usual table in the middle of the room, where we pull out our books and wait for class to start.

"Settle down," says Snape icily, snapping the door shut behind him. Instantly, the class quiets, looking up at him expectantly. There is a not-so-slight trace of fear on Neville Longbottom's face.

"Before we begin today's lesson," says Snape, swooping over to his desk and glancing around the room, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' O.W.L., or suffer my…displeasure."

A tiny, almost inaudible squeak of fear issues from Neville.

"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape continues. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."

His gaze falls on Harry Potter, nestled between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger at the back of the room.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," Snape sneers, "So whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students."

"Brilliant," mutters Cassie darkly to my right. She isn't the best hand at Potions.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at the Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation," the Potions Master goes on. "Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." He flicks his wand and writing appears on the blackboard. "The ingredients and method are on the blackboard, and you will find everything you need in the store cupboard." He waves his wand again, causing the door of the store cupboard to burst open. "You have an hour and a half…start."

"Couldn't have given us anything easier, could he?" grunts Madeleine sarcastically about an hour into the lesson, stirring her potion feverishly.

I add a few more lacewings to my cauldron. "Oh, it isn't that bad," I say truthfully. Potions has easily always been my best subject.

Cassie and Madeleine exchange an exasperated look as Snape calls, "A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion."

I look down and sure enough, a silvery mist is emitting from my potion. Cassie gives my potion a dark look; hers is issuing a dark grey, heavy vapor. Madeleine's is a little better – the vapor is at least lighter than Cassie's. I glance around the dungeon and observe how the rest of the class has fared: Hermione Granger's potion, of course, is perfect, probably even better than mine. Ron Weasley's cauldron is showering green sparks, and the vapor rising from Harry's potion greatly resembles Cassie's. Neville's potion is literally sticking to his cauldron, his round face shining with sweat as he struggles to stir it.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

My fellow Slytherins snigger; it's obviously time for Snape's weekly torture of the Boy Who Lived. "The Draught of Peace," replies Harry through gritted teeth, glaring at Snape.

"Tell me, Potter," says Snape, "Can you read?"

Draco laughs loudly. Harry gives Snape a death stare before replying, "Yes, I can."

Snape leers. "Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

Harry squints at the blackboard. "Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore."

Snape folds his arms. "Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

Harry hangs his head. "No…I forgot the hellebore…"

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. _Evanesco_," says Snape, clearing the contents of Harry's cauldron with a flick of his wand. He turns to the rest of the class. "Those of you _have_ managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

I feel bad for Harry, but there really isn't much I can do. I fill a flagon with my Draught of Peace and take it up to Snape's desk, then head back to my table and gather my things. "More homework," groans Cassie as we exit the dungeons and head to the Great Hall for lunch. "My brain can't handle this. Think I could pay Hermione Granger to do it all for me?"

"Fat chance," giggles Madeleine as we take seats at the Slytherin table. Draco is a few seats down, chattering animatedly to a group of his friends about Snape's latest torment of Harry.

Cassie sighs and helps herself to a slice of shepherd's pie. "Shame," she says sadly. "But I suppose her time is better wasted on Potter and Weasley."

We hurry through lunch, and afterwards I head to Arithmancy while Cassie and Madeleine have a break. I'm one of the first to arrive; Hermione and a couple Ravenclaws are the only others in the room. I take a seat near the front, knowing probably no one will want to join me: I'm the only Slytherin in this class, and while it sometimes bothers me that the other three Houses will go out of their way to ignore me, it also makes it easier to concentrate on whatever Professor Vector is teaching.

Today, however, Hermione tentatively approaches me and slides into the seat to the right of me. "Hi, Ara," she greets me, somewhat nervously. "Can I sit here?"

I'm greatly surprised, but I try not to let it show when I answer, "Um…sure. Yeah, I guess."

Hermione gives me a small smile before taking out her book and burying herself in it. I have no idea why she's chosen to sit next to me, but I don't plan on finding out, and I can only hope she'll refrain from speaking to me during the lesson. I cringe slightly at the thought of what Draco would say if he saw me sitting next to his "pal", the "Mudblood Granger."

Arithmancy passes rather quickly, and once the lesson is over I don't linger to talk to Hermione, who looks as if there's something more she wants to say to me. "Ara!" she calls, but I'm already out the door and halfway down the corridor. I hurry to my next class – Ancient Runes – and quickly slip into the seat next to Madeleine, Hermione's bizarre behavior leaving me rather unnerved.

Madeleine gives me an odd look. "What's wrong with you?"

I pull my book out of my bag and set it in front of me. "Hermione Granger sat next to me in Arithmancy."

Madeleine's mouth drops open. "Really? Why?"

"How should I know?" I reply. It may seem like a small, insignificant incident, but I'm in no way overreacting; a Gryffindor – one of the Golden Trio, no less – willingly sitting next to a Slytherin is virtually unheard of within Hogwarts. "I was under the impression she hated all things Slytherin."

Mad frowns, her forehead creased. She twirls a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "Strange."

Further discussion on Hermione is cut short as Professor Babbling strolls in, immediately launching into a lecture about O.W.L.s. She too sets us a large amount of homework: twenty difficult translations, due next class. "And to think, I wanted to practice Quidditch before the tryouts this week," Madeleine says glumly on our way back to the common room.

"Pipe dream, Lady Marianne," Cass announces dolefully, coming up behind us and scaring the daylights out of me. "Trelawney gave us a load of homework, too. That's two essays, practice of the Vanishing Spell, and a stupid dream diary I have to do all before the end of this week."

"At least you don't have Arithmancy or Ancient Runes," I snap, envious of her somewhat lighter workload. "They're probably the two toughest subjects that exist. I'd trade you in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, but I'll have to decline your generous offer," Cass replies sarcastically. "_Amor fati_," she says to the blank stretch of wall concealing the common room. It immediately opens up to grant us entrance.

"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" asks Madeleine as we plop into chairs near the fireplace.

I pull my schedule from my bag and consult it. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and Astronomy."

Cassie moans and buries her head in her hands. "Another promising day."

Madeleine rolls her eyes. "This year's going to be a nightmare."

I can't help but agree.

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts is our first class the next morning. "Wonder what this Umbridge woman will be like," Cass muses at breakfast, pouring herself a cup of coffee. There are dark circles under her eyes; I know that neither Mad nor I can look much better. We were up until at least two working on our homework.

"I hope she's not in a foul mood after that row with Harry Potter yesterday," Madeleine whispers, glancing up at the staff table at Umbridge. Word had traveled quickly during dinner last night, and within minutes the entire school knew that Harry Potter had engaged in a shouting match with Umbridge, claiming he'd witnessed the return of the Dark Lord. Students were wildly trading rumors about his sanity, but luckily neither of my friends pressed the issue, saving me the trouble of having to act ignorant of the truth.

We finish breakfast and head to class, grabbing seats in the back. The rest of our House filters in, each of my classmates looking more tired than the last. "Start that dream diary yet, Moneroy?" Pansy asks Cassie, taking the seat in front of me. Daphne takes the one in front of Mad.

"I've had one night's sleep, Parkinson," Cassie answers irritably. "No – not even that. Do you really think I've had enough dreams to start that stupid diary?"

Pansy giggles, shrill and cold. "_Nobody_ puts their actual dreams in there, Moneroy," she says snootily. "They make them up. That old bat never notices the difference."

"Oh, really?" says Cassie, folding her arms. "Then tell me, Parkinson, what do _you_ 'dream' about? An 'Outstanding' on all your exams? Because I'm sure that's the only place you've ever seen an O, in your dreams –"

"You little bitch!" Pansy growls, pulling out her wand, but thankfully Umbridge chooses that moment to walk in. She's wearing the same pink cardigan she wore at the welcoming feast, and that ugly Alice band is back in her hair. "Wands away and books out, please," she says in that breathy, girlish voice, and Pansy reluctantly turns around in her seat, shoving her wand back into her pocket.

I quickly realize that this class is going to be a complete and utter waste of time: Umbridge launches into a long-winded speech about the "carefully structured, theory-centered" course of study the Ministry is implementing this year, effectively dashing any hope I'd had for her being a decent teacher. She has us copy down three "course aims," none of which have to do with the use of defensive spells. Blaise Zabini points this out to her, but Umbridge merely brushes him off, stating that there is no reason for us to have to use defensive magic in a "carefully controlled classroom setting."

Though everyone listens intently in case she brings it up, Umbridge says nothing about yesterday's incident with Harry Potter; I suspect she thinks it will die out on its own if she just acts like it never happened. She also makes no mention of our meeting at the Ministry, though I catch her studying me every so often, as if she's trying to get a more accurate judgment of my character by gluing her eyes to my face. I do my best to ignore her and concentrate on the chapter she's assigned us to read from _Defensive Magical Theory_, but the writing is dull and tedious, and I spend the rest of the period surreptitiously playing tic-tac-toe on a piece of parchment with Cassie and Mad, under the pretense of taking notes.

"That was the _worst_ class ever!" Cassie complains as we leave the room and head towards History of Magic. "Can't blame Harry Potter for picking a fight with her, bet it at least livened things up a little."

Madeleine and I nod our agreement, though I privately think there is more to Dolores Umbridge than meets the eye – and not in a good way. "You may have spoken too soon, History of Magic can give that toad a run for her money," Madeleine says dejectedly as we enter the classroom, an hour and a half of Professor Binns' boring, monotonous lecture stretching before us.

* * *

Saturday morning dawns fresh and clear, the sky a cloudless, bright blue. The beautiful weather lifts my mood considerably; I can't remember the last time I've had such a terrible first week of classes. "Perfect Quidditch conditions," Madeleine says happily at breakfast, scooping some eggs onto her plate.

"Maddie, are you actually going to go through with this?" Cassie asks, chin in her hands. She's studying her reflection in the back of a spoon. "Slytherin hasn't had a girl on their team in years. And Montague's the captain. The only way he'll let you on the team is if your muscles are bigger than your brain."

"Don't listen to Moneroy, Abgrall, I'll put in a good word for you," Draco interrupts, dropping into the seat beside me. Crabbe and Goyle sit across from him and immediately begin piling their plates with food.

I roll my eyes. "There's no guarantee you're automatically back on the team, Draco."

Draco grins and throws his arm over my shoulders. "Oh, Ara, trust me – there is," he says wickedly, his pale eyes gleaming. Before I can snap at him to get off of me, he removes his arm and stands up. "See you on the pitch, ladies." He grabs a piece of toast and heads off towards the entrance hall, Crabbe and Goyle following him, their arms still laden with food.

Cassie stares after him with disgust. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who cares," I retort. "He probably paid off Montague to let him back on the team without having to try out again. I wouldn't be surprised."

Madeleine bites her lip and a greenish tinge comes over her features. "Don't worry, Mad, you're a great Chaser," I tell her encouragingly. "Don't worry about Draco or Montague or anyone. You'll be fine."

Madeleine rests her forehead in her hands. "I hope so."

We finish breakfast and head back up to our dormitory so Madeleine can retrieve her broom. She doesn't speak as we make our way to the Quidditch pitch, her expression turning more and more somber with each step. "Come on, Lady Marianne, you're gonna blow them out of the water," Cass encourages her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "Or air, I guess, would be more appropriate."

"And we'll be here the whole time," I promise as we reach the stands, our point of separation.

Madeleine nods and even manages a small smile. "Thanks, guys." She takes a deep breath and glances over at the other hopefuls already surrounding Montague. "Well…here goes nothing." She marches off toward the crowd.

Cass and I climb to the top row of the stands, wanting to have the best view possible. A few other spectators are also present, though I don't recognize them from Slytherin. Two of the group sport red and gold ties, identifying them as Gryffindors. "Why the hell would they come to watch our tryouts?" Cassie asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at them.

I shrug. "Probably for the same reason Draco goes to watch the Gryffindor tryouts – to make fun of us."

Cassie snorts and slumps down in her seat. "Pathetic."

The tryouts begin with the Keepers. Five sixth year boys take their turns at the position, and though they all perform rather well, the spot goes to Miles Bletchley, the same Keeper Slytherin's had since I was a first year. "How surprising," I mutter, watching as the Beaters take their turns next. Montague ends up choosing Crabbe and Goyle to fill the vacant Beater positions, mainly for their gorilla-like statures, and despite the fact that neither one seems able to tell one end of the broomstick from the other. The Seekers don't even get a trial; Draco watches smugly as the disappointed candidates leave the pitch. Finally, the Chasers are up; Madeleine lines up at the edge of the pitch with seven others, all of them male and much taller and broader than she. "You think she can do it?" Cass murmurs concernedly.

I hesitate. "I don't know," I say finally. "They all look like they could knock her out of the air just by chucking the Quaffle at her."

Montague already takes up one of the Chaser's spots; therefore, there are only two left, and the competition is visibly fierce. Calvin Warrington goes first, weaving up and down the field and pelting the Quaffle past Bletchley. The next three are absolutely dreadful, the following two are average, Adrian Pucey is just as good as Warrington, and then finally, it's Madeleine's turn. "Go Mad!" Cass yells, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Show them what you can do!"

Madeleine glances up at us, obviously irritated at Cassie's outburst, before mounting her broom and soaring into the air. Montague tosses the Quaffle to her and she catches it easily, tucking it under her arm and dashing swiftly towards the goal posts.

In a matter of moments, Madeleine has proven herself better than both Warrington and Pucey combined; she flies as if it's the most natural thing in the world and sends the Quaffle whizzing past Bletchley four times. The Slytherins watch with their mouths open, their eyes wide and disbelieving. "That's my girl," Cass says proudly, grinning broadly at the looks on the boys' faces.

Montague instantly names her the second Chaser and then dismisses five of the other candidates, his final decision now between Warrington and Pucey. "I told you, Mad!" Cassie yells excitedly as we dash down the aisles and onto the pitch. "Congratulations!"

Madeleine's face is flushed pink; she smiles widely as she pulls off her gloves. "_Merci beaucoup, mes amies_," she replies blissfully, tucking the gloves into the pocket of her robes. She lets out a tiny squeal. "I can't believe I actually made the Slytherin Quidditch team!"

"We're so happy for you!" I tell her happily, gripping her in a hug. "And if Draco gives you any crap, Mad, you just let me know –"

"BUT SHE'S A GIRL!"

Adrian Pucey is right up in Montague's face, his expression furious; Montague has obviously chosen Warrington over him. Montague scowls and pushes Pucey away from him. "Shove off, Pucey," he snaps. "I don't care what she is, she and Warrington both outflew and outscored you, get over it!"

Cassie frowns and crosses her arms. "Looks like it's not Draco she'll be taking crap from."

Pucey's face is beat red, his eyes wild. "You can't do this to me, Montague, I've been on the team for three years!"

"Get out of it, Pucey, there's always next year," I answer scathingly, narrowing my eyes at him.

Pucey rounds on me, his anger practically palpable. "Shut up, Lestrange, nobody asked you," he spits rudely.

Instantly, Draco draws his wand, brandishing it at Pucey. "Don't talk to my cousin like that, Pucey," he warns, his tone venomous.

"Oh, stop it, all of you!" Madeleine cuts in angrily, hands on her hips. "This is so incredibly childish –"

At once, several voices ring out, and it's a number of moments, a few shrieks, and a loud bang before I realize what's happening. Cassie is clutching her shoulder, her robes torn and blood leaking between her fingers; Draco and Pucey are locked in a duel, screaming curses at one another while Warrington and Montague attempt to separate them; Crabbe and Goyle are standing away from the action, appearing clueless, and Madeleine watches the scene with wide eyes, unwittingly digging her nails into my arm. "Cass, are you okay?" I ask hurriedly, kneeling next to her.

Cassie grimaces with pain but nods. "I think so." She removes her hand, revealing a smoking wound in her flesh. "Hurts like a bitch, though."

Madeleine crouches down to her level too while I stand, making my way over to the dueling boys. "Quit it, you bloody idiots, look what you've done to her!" I bellow, pointing at Cass.

"I was aiming for that bloody tramp over there!" Pucey roars, indicating Madeleine.

Anger as I've never known it courses through me. "_Furnunculus!_" I scream, pulling out my wand and sending the spell in Pucey's direction. Warrington manages to push him out of the way of the hex while Montague restrains Draco. "Ara, get out of here!" Draco snarls, fighting against Montague's grip.

"Yeah, Ara, get out of here," Pucey mocks, straining against Warrington's hold. "And take your pathetic, worthless little friends with you –"

"_Impedimenta!_" I cry, wanting so badly to cause him pain, but Warrington once again throws Pucey out of harm's way. "Come on, Ara, let's stop this," Warrington pants as Pucey, laughing loudly, pushes himself to his feet and points his wand at me.

"If you hurt her, Pucey, I swear to God – !" Draco screeches, still struggling helplessly against his captor Montague.

Warrington draws his own wand, brandishing it at Pucey, but Pucey is quicker than he is and one "_Expelliarmus!_" later, Warrington is disarmed and powerless. "_Impedimenta!_" I scream again, hoping to catch him off guard, but he blocks my hex deftly and opens his mouth to serve me with a return curse –

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?"

Pucey freezes, lowering his wand at once: Professor McGonagall is all but running across the grounds toward us, her expression livid, her stride forceful. "_Impeccable_ behavior!" she screams sarcastically, coming to a stop in front of us, her glasses askew. "A _fine_ example of maturity you've set here, I must say!"

"Professor –" Madeleine begins, her voice pleading.

"Be quiet, Miss Abgrall, I'm not interested in excuses," McGonagall barks. "Escort Miss Moneroy to the hospital wing. You two," she snaps at Montague and Warrington, "Get back to your common room. Now!"

Montague and Warrington scatter immediately. Madeleine helps Cassie to her feet and gives me a despairing look before heading off to the castle. McGonagall watches them with a forceful eye; the moment they're out of earshot, she speaks: "Malfoy, Pucey, Miss Lestrange – I am _sorely_ disappointed by your rash behavior and lack of judgment! Fighting, whether it be physical or magical, is absolutely disgraceful and, I feel compelled to remind you, totally unacceptable conduct at Hogwarts. Rest assured I will be speaking to Professor Snape about your reprehensible actions. Fifty points from Slytherin and detention for each of you!"

My mouth drops open. "Professor, please, I didn't -"

"I saw the entire thing from my office, Miss Lestrange, don't try to deny your involvement," McGonagall cuts me off waspishly. "I don't care what anyone said to provoke you, the way you handled it was despicable." She points towards the castle. "Back to your common room at once, and I hope I _never _witness such a disgusting display from the three of you again!"

I spin on my heel and immediately head back to the castle, waiting for neither Draco nor Pucey. Anger bubbles inside of me, and it takes all the self-restraint I possess to keep myself from turning around and throwing another hex at the wretched boy. No one speaks until we reach the castle, and McGonagall holds the heavy oak doors open for us, ushering us inside ahead of her.

I enter first and turn to wait for Draco. "You'd better watch out, Lestrange," Pucey hisses as he passes. "You _and_ your thieving friend."

"I'm shaking, Pucey," I taunt, folding my arms, as Draco comes up beside me.

McGonagall steps in last and waves her wand, locking the doors. She gives us a look deadly enough to shut us up and send us scampering for the common room.

The perfect end to an utterly perfect week.

* * *

At five to eight on Sunday night I head over to Professor Snape's office for my detention, per the owl Professor McGonagall had sent me earlier that morning. Mad and Cassie were sympathetic to my case when I informed them of McGonagall's punishment, but Madeleine couldn't deny that I deserved it. "You shouldn't have gotten involved, Ara," she had said over dinner Saturday evening, shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"He called you a tramp, Mad," I'd answered hotly, glaring down the table at Pucey. "What was I supposed to do, let that go?"

Cassie spears a piece of roast beef on her fork. "Honestly, Mad, the guy's a pig. Ara was doing you a favor."

"Yeah, and she's landed herself in _detention_," Mad had retorted. "With Snape, too, of all people."

"We're Slytherins, Maddie, Snape loves us," Cass had responded, sipping her pumpkin juice. "Ara will be fine."

I'm not sure "loves us" is the correct term, but Snape does tend to favor his own House above others, and it's this thought that gives me hope of a somewhat bearable detention as I knock on the Potions Master's office door. "Enter," Snape calls coldly, and with a deep breath I push open the door.

Snape is sitting at his desk, marking essays with a red quill. "Good evening, Miss Lestrange," he greets me briskly without looking up.

I slide quietly into the chair in front of his desk. "Good evening, Professor."

There's an uncomfortable silence in the room as Snape finishes the essay he's grading, the parchment practically drowning in red ink. "What will I be doing tonight, sir?" I ask apprehensively as he sets down his quill and places the stack of essays to the side.

Snape observes me intently for a moment, his fingertips pressed together. "Retrieve your traveling cloak from your dormitory, Miss Lestrange."

I'm not sure I've heard correctly. "Sir?"

"Do not question me, Miss Lestrange," Snape says softly, his voice dangerous. "Retrieve your traveling cloak from your dormitory and return here as quickly as possible." He stands, taking his own cloak from the stand next to his desk and pulling it on, all the while taking in my thoroughly confused expression. The next words out of his mouth only serve to perplex me further:

"You will not be serving any type of detention tonight."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated!


	8. A Shocking Proposal

**A/N:** Hey there! I apologize for the delay between updates. School has been kicking my butt lately; I've had an endless amount of papers to write and stupid exams to take. I've also been working my way through a cold, which makes everything suck a lot more, lol. And to be quite honest, I had a little bit of writer's block working on this chapter. I wanted the various conversations between characters to turn out perfectly, and I'm pretty satisfied with what I came up with, so hopefully you are too!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! It's truly your comments that motivate me to keep writing!

**Chapter 7 – A Shocking Proposal**

I stare at him blankly. "No detention? Sir?"

Snape narrows his eyes dangerously. "Do you have some sort of hearing impairment, Miss Lestrange?" he snaps sardonically. "Get your traveling cloak from your dormitory, and if I have to repeat myself a fourth time, you'll have an entire _week's_ worth of detentions to look forward to."

I don't dare to push Snape's patience further. Immediately, I turn around and retrace my steps to the Slytherin common room, hurrying through the silent and drafty dungeon corridors. The common room is packed to the brim when I enter, the majority of its inhabitants attempting to finish some last minute piece of homework most likely due early the next morning. I spot Madeleine and Cassie in armchairs near the fire, Transfiguration books open, quills scratching feverishly. Both are so engrossed in their work that neither notices me, and I hasten towards the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories, thankful I won't have to make up an excuse for my sudden return from detention.

"Skipping detention, Lestrange?" Pansy inquires rudely as I enter our room. She's sitting on her bed, painting her toenails a vibrant red. Daphne looks up from the parchment she's scribbling on but says nothing.

I pay no heed to Pansy as I wrench open the doors of my closet, shoving garments aside in search of my traveling cloak. "You know, it's rather rude to ignore someone when they're speaking to you," she goes on, capping her bottle of polish and stretching her leg into the air. She wiggles her toes, sending flashes of red across my plane of vision.

"Don't _you_ have prefect duty tonight?" I grumble at her, sticking my head inside my closet, as if that will somehow allow me to spot my cloak more quickly. "Giving _that_ the shaft, are you? I have to say, Dumbledore sure knew what he was doing when he picked you!"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I have more important things to do this evening than patrol the corridors and keep up with a bunch of first year brats," Pansy replies snootily.

I finally locate my cloak and snatch it off its hanger. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize painting your nails took priority over prefect duties," I say casually, pulling the cloak around me and drawing my hair out from underneath the hood. "That's obviously the case, so I'll just let you carry on." I head toward the door.

Daphne eyes me warily. "Where _are_ you going, Ara?"

I pause, my hand on the doorknob. "Detention," I answer simply, pulling open the door and thundering down the stairs before either of them can interrogate me further.

"Did you stop to admire the scenery?" sneers Snape as I round the corner to his office. He's standing outside the closed door, arms crossed, evidently waiting for me.

I don't think I took _that_ long, but it will surely do me no good to argue. "I'm sorry, sir," I apologize, panting slightly, coming to a stop in front of him. "I tried to be as quick as possible –"

Snape holds up a hand. "Please, Miss Lestrange, I'd rather _not_ hear your brainless excuses," he interrupts icily. I bite my tongue; he's obviously in a terrible mood – more so than usual. "Follow me." He leads me back up the corridor, at a pace so quick I nearly have to run to keep up.

My mind is teeming with questions; I want so badly to ask what's going on, but Snape's irate expression keeps me silent. Finally, just outside the entrance hall, I pluck up enough courage: "Sir? Where are we – ?"

Snape whirls around suddenly, his long black robes whipping around him eerily. I'm caught off guard and nearly walk into him. "I will speak more plainly once we are away from the grounds, Miss Lestrange," he hisses, in a voice that leaves no room for argument. "Until then, kindly maintain your silence, as difficult a task I'm certain it is."

Slightly intimidated, I nod quickly, and Snape glares at me for several long moments before resuming the direction he'd been taking. My brain is bursting with curiosity, but I'm not tempted in the least to question Snape again. He and my uncle have been friends for years, so Snape doesn't scare me nearly as much as he does other students – but there are still those moments where I fear him just as much as anyone else does.

We glide through the deserted entrance hall, halting in front of the oak front doors. Snape draws his wand and waves it sharply, muttering an incantation under his breath. Instantly, the doors unlock, and Snape ushers me out ahead of him, glancing furtively behind us before quietly shutting the doors and recasting the spell to secure them.

My anxiety is at an all-time high; my heart racing, the blood pounding in my veins. It's twilight, the golden rays of the sun spilling across the darkened grounds, creating a pinkish-orange effect in the sky. The greenhouses, covered in vines and various other magical fungi, appear dark and eerily haunted, as does the Forbidden Forest, the tree tops swaying menacingly. It's a bit chilly for September. I shiver and pull my cloak more tightly around my body. Snape takes no notice as he marches onward, eyes trained on the gates in the distance. I bite my lip nervously. This doesn't feel right to me, and I have half a mind to just stop walking and demand an explanation before taking another step.

But I don't. I'm apprehensive, yes, but Snape is my uncle's good friend, and he wouldn't willingly cancel my detention and take me off of the school grounds without reason – or my uncle's knowledge. "We're going to the manor, aren't we?" I ask suddenly, unwittingly acting on my earlier intention and coming to a standstill, just short of the boundary line. I look up at Snape, who has crossed the line and is holding a hand out to me, his face drawn into a scowl. "Aren't we? Sir?"

Snape glares at me. "Give me your hand so we can Apparate, Miss Lestrange."

The answer is written in his face. I step past the invisible boundary and awkwardly slip my hand into his. Immediately, we're blurring through space, my entire body feeling as if it's being compressed through a miniscule tube. Then, as suddenly as it began, the Apparition is over, and I drop Snape's hand and sway unsteadily on my feet. I've experienced Side-Along Apparition many times with either Aunt Narcissa or Uncle Lucius or one of my sisters, but the feeling is one I'm still not used to, and among the most unpleasant I've ever encountered.

"Come," beckons Snape imperiously, obviously unaffected, as he starts down the dark street. I recognize our location – the manor is a mere ten minutes away. "We are very nearly late."

"Sir, please –" I begin, but Snape cuts me off before I can finish my entreaty.

"The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you, Miss Lestrange," he snaps, not looking at me as he continues at a brisk, forceful pace. "The Headmaster is under the impression that there is some sort of family emergency and has given his consent for you to leave the castle under my watch."

My breathing turns shallow and uneven. "The Dark Lord wants to speak with me?" I repeat, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I'm beginning to wish I'd refused to cross the boundary.

"It would seem that way," Snape answers, irritated, rounding a corner. I can now see the manor in the distance, gleaming elegantly in the last bit of dusky sunlight.

"But – but won't people know I'm gone?" I ask worriedly, groping for any excuse to get out of this. "Professor McGonagall – she'll know I haven't served my detention. She'll ask questions –"

"I beg your pardon, I forgot that you possess an unfortunate amount of selective hearing," Snape interjects icily. "The _Headmaster_ has been informed of your departure. Professor McGonagall still believes you to be in my classroom, scrubbing cauldrons."

"How can Professor Dumbledore just allow me to go tearing off at a moment's notice?" I continue wildly, becoming more and more terrified. "And anyone could have seen us walking across the grounds – we should have used Floo powder –"

"For God's sake, girl, quit your foolish babbling!" Snape snarls impatiently, without breaking stride. "The Headmaster, as I've already told you, was fed a false excuse in order to obtain permission for you to leave the castle. He often grants immediate consent in emergency circumstances." Snape's face darkens. "As for our means of travel…suffice it to say that Apparition is the safest option at the moment. The Floo Network at present is not very…reliable."

I'm fighting a losing battle, but I'm not ready to surrender just yet. "Why does he want to speak to me?" I whisper, allowing a hitch of fear into my voice.

Snape stops abruptly, spinning around and grasping me tightly by the shoulders. "I understand that this was probably the _last_ thing you expected to happen tonight, Miss Lestrange," he says quietly. His voice is firm, commanding, but lacks its usual iciness. His grip on my shoulders is almost unbearable. "The Dark Lord has an important matter that he wishes to discuss with you immediately. Speak to him, answer his questions, listen to whatever it is he has to say. It is _essential_ that you face him without the fear you are displaying now. Do you understand?"

The dread in my stomach must be manifesting itself on my face; I'm certain that my complexion is chalk white. I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood. "Yes," I murmur numbly, finally accepting defeat.

Snape glares at me for a moment longer, then releases me and silently turns away. We're nearly at the manor, and with every step forward I take, I feel more and more like I'm walking towards my own execution. My feet are like two blocks of lead, nearly causing me to trip over the front steps. Snape gives me a half irritated, half amused look before grasping the large silver knocker and banging it against the door twice.

Dover answers the door, the lines in his face illuminated by the flames of the flickering candle he holds in his hand. "Miss Ara," he addresses me, bowing deeply. He straightens and inclines his head politely towards Snape. "Professor Snape…please come in."

It feels rather odd to be addressed as a guest at my own house. I glance at Snape, who nods at me to enter first. I do so apprehensively, as if the Dark Lord might unexpectedly jump out at me from around the corner. Dover shuts the door behinds us, causing me to jump, and inches his way to the head of our party. "Follow Dover, please, Miss Ara and Professor Snape," he commands squeakily, holding the candle high as he leads us down the hall. The light dances off of the darkened walls, creating eerie shadows that swim around us, dark and fluid.

Dover guides us to the drawing room, stopping just short of the entrance. He steps to the side and once more sweeps into a deep bow – indicating that we are to enter without him. I hesitate, contemplating just turning around and running away, but Snape, correctly guessing my thoughts, gives me a gentle shove forward. Reluctantly, I push open the door and walk into the drawing room, holding my breath.

"Ara!"

I have a brief glimpse of Uncle Lucius seated on the sofa before Aunt Cissy pulls me to her in a hug comparable to a chokehold. "Oh, darling, I've missed you," she murmurs, stroking my hair. I can practically sense the tears coming. Honestly. You'd think I'd been gone for a year rather than a week.

"Now, now, Narcissa, let the girl breathe."

I recognize that high, cold voice instantly and feel Aunt Cissy freeze around me. "Yes, my lord," she whispers obediently, squeezing my hands tightly before letting go of me.

Massaging my throat, I take a moment to observe my surroundings: Uncle Lucius is on the sofa, arms crossed, his expression unfathomable. To my surprise, Carina is seated at his side, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Aunt Cissy returns to the couch and seats herself primly on Uncle Lucius' other side, her face the same color as her pale blonde hair. She alone of the three appears even remotely anxious.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Snape fall to one knee, his head down. "My lord," he greets quietly.

"Severus," the Dark Lord responds coolly. He is seated at my uncle's desk, I'm almost certain, but my body refuses to turn around and confirm this. "Everything went well, I trust?"

Snape nods. "Dumbledore, for the moment, suspects nothing."

"Excellent," hisses the Dark Lord. "He will deduce the true nature of the girl's absence soon enough, no doubt, but it does not matter…" He pauses a moment before speaking again. "Young Lestrange…turn and face me."

My stomach is in knots, churning painfully. I silently appeal to my family. Carina narrows her eyes, and I can read her mind perfectly: _What are you waiting for? Face him!_ Aunt Cissy's eyes are wide, but Uncle Lucius nods his head slightly, encouraging me. Fervently wishing I could be in the dark, freezing dungeons scrubbing cauldrons rather than here, I turn slowly, raising my gaze to meet the prominent face of one of the greatest wizards ever to exist.

The Dark Lord furrows his brow. He looks exactly the same as he did at Carina's birthday party: snow-white skin, merciless red eyes, and a thin frame draped in a black robe. "You appear troubled, young Lestrange," he observes. My heart pounds. "Tell Lord Voldemort what ails you."

Remembering what Snape said about not showing fear, I attempt to arrange my expression into one of curiosity. "Troubled?" I repeat, successfully keeping my fright at bay. "I'm perfectly well, sir."

The Dark Lord cocks his head to one side, smiling slightly. "Leave us," he commands to the rest of the room. "I wish to speak to the girl alone."

Carina immediately gets to her feet. Uncle Lucius follows suit, taking her arm. My aunt, however, remains seated, her pale eyes now positively stricken with alarm. "M-my lord?" she ventures timidly. "Surely Ara would be grateful if we were to stay –"

"But I, Narcissa, would _not_," interjects the Dark Lord precariously, twirling his wand between his long fingers. Aunt Cissy eyes it warily, and after a moment's hesitation, she stands and takes Uncle Lucius' other arm, allowing him to sweep her and Carina out of the room. I glance at Snape, silently begging him not to leave me alone, but he ignores my mute plea and trails after my aunt, uncle, and sister, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Sit down, young Lestrange," the Dark Lord commands, carelessly indicating the seat in front of Uncle Lucius' desk.

Despite my trepidation, I feel a stab of annoyance ebbing away at me; it frustrates me that he continues to refer to me as "young Lestrange" and not by my given name. I pull the chair out and sit down gingerly, as if any wrong movement I make will mortally offend him.

The Dark Lord smirks. "Well, it seems you chose a convenient time to be handed a detention," he says, almost in a whisper, but the clarity of his voice makes it impossible to miss any of his words. "I've desired to speak with you since your sister's party, but regretfully I was extraordinarily busy during the summer months. I must thank you for providing me with such an unexpected opportunity to converse with you."

I can think of no reason he could have for wanting to speak to me so badly, and it intrigues as well as startles me. "You're welcome," I respond uncertainly, wondering if this is what I'm supposed to say, or if I should have said anything at all.

The Dark Lord leans back in his chair, placing his wand on the desk and touching the tips of his fingers together. "Do you have any idea why I've so longed to speak with you?"

I shake my head.

"None at all? Surely you can make the connection, young Lestrange."

And suddenly, it hits me like a slap to the face, his preferred use of my last name spurring me to put the pieces together. "My mother," I offer dully, knowing I'm right. Everything always comes back to her.

The Dark Lord grins wickedly. "You don't sound overly delighted, young one," he comments. "Before her imprisonment, your mother was one of my most faithful and powerful servants. Some of the most potent magic she performed was taught to her by me." He pauses, studying me intently. "Your eldest sister seems eager to learn, and while she possesses your mother's ruthless and callous nature, I unfortunately must admit that she has not inherited the talent that made Bellatrix my most prized student." His expression darkens considerably. "Your sister has already failed in successfully obtaining for me something I've been yearning after for quite some time. And so, young Lestrange, I must ask you: was it a mistake on my part to induct Carina into my circle?"

For a moment, I'm sure I've heard him wrong, but then his words finally register and my jaw drops open. He wants me to evaluate the dark capabilities of my sister? Enlighten him on the amount of competency she possesses? _This_ is the reason he's had me covertly pulled out of Hogwarts without explanation? "My lord, I'm afraid I don't understand why you've asked _me_ such a question," I say slowly, measuring my words carefully, trying not to let my voice tremble. "I'm the youngest of my sisters and therefore in no position to judge them on their abilities. And in any event my opinion matters very little in comparison to your own."

The Dark Lord says nothing for a moment, choosing instead to continue observing me as if I'm a highly fascinating object. "I merely desired to hear your view of your sister, but no matter," he says sharply. I clench my hands into fists, afraid that I've angered him. "That is not the reason I ordered Severus to bring you here tonight."

Oh, Merlin. "Then – then what is, my lord?" I inquire nervously.

"I wish to teach you when you come of age," the Dark Lord answers, standing and coming around to my side of the desk. He stops in front of me, gauging my reaction, his aura commanding and sinister. "I see in you all the potential of your mother, young Lestrange. Of her three daughters, you hold the most promise. A Hogwarts education can only take you so far, and that idiotic fool Dumbledore often shields the students from learning the powerful, dark magic that he hates." He leans over me, placing his white hands on either arm of my chair. "I've pushed the boundaries of magic further than anyone has ever dared. I can show you things you never would have dreamed existed. Your mother accepted my proposal and became one of my most powerful followers. To think, young one, you could one day possess the same power, and I would grant you the luxuries I allow only to my most devoted servants."

My head is spinning, his face mere inches from mine, his icy breath on my cheeks. "But…my sisters, my lord," I implore, his offer too much for me to process at the moment. "They're strong and smart too, they could benefit from your teachings as well –"

"No!" the Dark Lord replies harshly, his anger nearly palpable. "You fail to understand that your sisters are too much like Rodolphus to fully grasp anything I could attempt to show them. Carina, as I've said, has failed me once, and I will have to test her again before I can be sure of her competency. And the middle one…Lyra…Carina has told me of her; her loyalties are questionable. She will leave Hogwarts soon, and then…then we will see where her allegiance truly lies…"

I refuse to recognize that he is undeniably right about Lyra – I've been pushing her dubious loyalty to the Dark Lord to the back of my mind. But Carina…Carina is the oldest, the prettiest, the most intelligent. She's always had a cruel streak in her that I don't. Out of the three of us, she is the one I would, without a doubt, expect to receive a dark education from the Dark Lord. But because I so greatly physically resemble my mother, the Dark Lord assumes me to be exactly like her, and I've never been in a position where someone would willingly choose me over one of my arguably more talented sisters. "I…I don't know what to say, my lord," I reply honestly, hoping I don't sound too frightened.

"Many would die for this chance," the Dark Lord hisses. "If you are loyal to me, you will allow me to mold you, just as I have molded Bellatrix. If you choose to turn away from me…I will break you. I will kill your friends, your family, slowly take everything away from you until you are in so much pain you'll have no choice but to surrender to me. Lord Voldemort recognizes talent, young Lestrange, and he does not let it go to waste. I desire to build a strong army, one that obeys me without question and honors me above all others. I've been failed many times by many of my followers, and I am incredibly tired of Harry Potter eluding my grasp due to a combination of their foolishness and sheer luck. I will not make the same mistakes again. I wish to impart a fraction of my vast knowledge onto you, to aid you in overpowering those who dare to defy me. You will accept this, young Lestrange. You will complete your education at Hogwarts, and then, we shall begin."

He glares at me, as if expecting a response, but I'm unable to make a sound. My throat has rebelled against me, and all I can do is stare at him in astonishment. "Speak, girl," the Dark Lord orders, his tone low and menacing. He reaches for his wand. "Speak! _Imperio!_"

Instantly, I feel as if my mind and body have been separated. Everything seems oddly detached, and a voice is echoing in some distant chamber of my brain, demanding that I open my mouth and articulate. "Yes, my lord," I say methodically, the words pouring out against my will. "I will do as my lord asks."

"Good," the Dark Lord whispers, lifting his wand and, subsequently, the curse. He strolls back behind the desk and resumes his seat, looking pleased. "Tell no one of this. We shall speak no more of it until the time comes. I do not wish to further disrupt your education."

* * *

"What did he want?" Aunt Cissy presses, her voice urgent. The Dark Lord has Disapparated, leaving my family and Snape free to bombard me with an endless amount of questions. She grasps my upper arms tightly, shaking me slightly.

I shrug numbly. "I can't tell you."

"You _can't tell me?_" Aunt Cissy repeats furiously, tightening her grip. "Ara, you must, you're too young to be involved in any of this –"

"Oh, Aunt Narcissa, stop it," Carina interrupts harshly, crossing her arms. "If she was told to keep her silence, then she'd do well to hold her tongue."

Aunt Cissy whips her head around, glaring at my sister. "Don't speak to me as if I'm an ignorant child," she snaps, her eyes wild.

"Don't act like one and I won't," Carina responds coolly.

Aunt Cissy rises suddenly, grabbing Carina just as she'd done to me moments ago. "Do _not_ pretend you know what life in the Dark Lord's service is all about," she whispers menacingly. "You know _nothing_. You may be an adult, Carina, but you're still a little girl in so many ways –"

"Get off of me!" Carina interjects, attempting to shake off our aunt's grasp, but Aunt Cissy holds fast, shaking her roughly. "You think it's an _honor_ for your fifteen year old sister to be involved in this?" she goes on, nearly screeching now. "There are so many things that could go wrong, Carina, you just don't understand, you don't remember last time –"

"I know last time you were proud to be doing the Dark Lord's work!" Carina yells, still struggling against Aunt Cissy's grip. "What changed? Are you too much of a coward now to serve your master –?"

"How dare you –!" screams Aunt Cissy, nearly hysterical. She raises her hand as if to slap Carina, but Uncle Lucius apparently decides it is time to intervene and catches it from behind, preventing her from bringing it down across my sister's face.

"That's enough, Narcissa!" he orders firmly, gently pulling her away from Carina, who massages her upper arms tenderly, glowering. "You're both acting like children! Carina, get upstairs, we've heard enough from you tonight."

Carina opens her mouth in protest, but Uncle Lucius fixes her with a glare that could freeze the flames of hell. Obviously deciding that further argument would be pointless, she gives my hand a light squeeze and stalks out of the drawing room, a tension in her wake.

"Lucius…that girl…" Aunt Cissy pants, her breathing heavy, her expression furious.

"Calm down, Narcissa, you're no better than she is," my uncle snaps, his irritation evident.

Aunt Cissy laughs mirthlessly. "And you're taking her side, are you?" she says angrily. "She's barely an adult, Lucius, she has no idea what she's gotten herself into, I _told_ you we should have never allowed her to take the Mark –"

"Narcissa, please," Uncle Lucius says tiredly, rubbing his forehead.

"No!" Aunt Cissy shrieks, back on the path to hysteria. "No, I will _not!_ Severus will agree with me, won't you, Severus?"

I'd almost forgotten Snape was in the room. He's sitting silently in an armchair, his arms folded. "I don't think it's my place to agree or disagree, Narcissa," he says quietly.

Aunt Cissy appears disgusted. "Old friends with Lucius, I should have known you'd side with him," she mutters resentfully. "Honestly –"

"_Honestly_, we've heard enough from you tonight as well, Narcissa," Uncle Lucius interrupts nastily. "Say goodbye to Ara; she and Severus need to get back to Hogwarts."

I can tell Aunt Narcissa is highly offended at being addressed in such a tone, but she hides it well as she hugs me tightly. "Write to me," she whispers, kissing the top of my head. "Tell me, Ara."

I make no promises. I don't even speak at all as Uncle Lucius draws me to him, nor when Dover shows Snape and me to the front door. "Have a pleasant evening, Miss Ara and Professor Snape," the old elf bids us, quietly shutting the door behind us.

Snape glances at me, but says nothing as we begin our walk back to the point we'd first Apparated to. I'd expected him to question me as well, but his silence is entirely welcome; I have no desire to speak to anyone at the moment. I'm having immense trouble processing what's just happened, and at the moment all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep forever.

It takes us longer to reach the point we'd Apparated to; this time, we're not under pressure to be somewhere on time. I don't understand why we didn't just Disapparate straight from outside the manor, but then it occurs to me that Uncle Lucius must have recently put some sort of Anti-Apparition jinx around the perimeter to prevent unwanted guests, making for a longer walk for us. Thoroughly ill-tempered now, I hold my hand out impatiently the moment we arrive at the point, waiting for Snape to grab onto me and Apparate us back to the castle.

No such luck. "I am aware of the nature of the conversation the Dark Lord held with you, Miss Lestrange," he says, studying me intently.

Of course. Snape is one of the Dark Lord's highest ranking Death Eaters, right up there with my loving mother. I don't answer him, averting his gaze and hoping he won't push the issue.

But push he does. "Your sister is right – many would consider this an honor. The Dark Lord will not think a refusal to his request an acceptable response."

The last person I want to discuss this with is Snape. "Can we just go back to Hogwarts, please?" I ask, exhausted, trying to keep my growing temper under control.

Snape doesn't move. "Your sister is also correct in saying that it would be to your benefit to maintain your silence," he says softly. "You must disclose tonight's events to no one, Miss Lestrange."

"All right!" I snarl. "I won't say a single bloody word! Can we go now?"

After a moment more, Snape finally nods and grasps my hand, swiftly Apparating us back to the castle. I follow him dully across the grounds, back through the front door, and down to the dungeons, where we finally part ways at the portrait of Lionel the Lost – Snape to his office and I to the Slytherin common room. I don't bother to say good night, choosing instead to stomp away angrily, knowing that I will probably pay for my rudeness sometime in the near future.

Sure enough, Snape calls to me while I'm still in earshot. "I'll see you at 8:00 tomorrow evening, Miss Lestrange."

I spin sharply on my heel, confused and just wanting to get away. "What for?" I inquire, unsuccessful in keeping the irritation out of my tone.

Snape smirks. "I believe you still have a detention to complete."

* * *

There was another scene I wanted to include in this chapter, but I felt like it would take away from the scene between Ara and Voldemort, so it will probably show up in the next chapter – if it shows up at all. I'm having second thoughts as to whether or not I want to include it lol.

I'd love it if you'd review!


	9. Hopeless

**A/N:** Hello all! I am SO SORRY about the length of time between updates! I truly, truly apologize from the bottom of my heart. I'm afraid my only excuses are school and work…but honestly, the two combined are enough to drive a person insane, lol. Anyhow, please know that I have been working on this as much as I can, and I hope this chapter makes up for my unintentional hiatus!

Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Hopeless**

It was nearly eleven in the evening when Snape returned. "It was just as you expected, Headmaster," he said wearily, lowering himself into the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. "The Dark Lord wants to make her his next pupil. He believes she is as gifted, if not more so, than Bellatrix."

Dumbledore maintained his silence for a moment. He stood with his back to Snape, staring unseeingly out the window. "How far gone is Ara, Severus?" he finally asked simply, his voice quiet.

Snape considered this. "She has the potential to start down the same path as her eldest sister," he replied, his voice slow and measured. "Carina, I'm afraid, is completely devoted to the Dark Lord. I doubt there is much chance of recovering her. And to be quite honest, I believe it is she and not the middle sister who has the more potent ability to effectively influence Miss Lestrange's decisions."

"And what of young Master Malfoy?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "He is excited to prove himself, to become one of the Dark Lord's faithful."

Dumbledore sighed, turning away from the window to face the Potions Master. "The world can hardly handle another Bellatrix, Severus," he said heavily, taking a seat behind his desk and resting his fingertips together thoughtfully.

"No more than it can handle another Dark Lord," Snape retorted impatiently. "I have spoken to Lucius and Narcissa, Headmaster, and they see it fit to give up their children to the Dark Lord's service. Lucius does, at any rate, while Narcissa fears for their safety. The Dark Lord is highly displeased with her obvious lack of enthusiasm."

Dumbledore continued to ponder, his brow furrowed. "There is no hope of changing Tom's mind," he murmured, more to himself than to Snape.

Snape narrowed his dark eyes. "No, indeed," he responded stiffly. "As you are aware, Headmaster, the Dark Lord has been showing an interest in Miss Lestrange for some time now. It would be unwise to attempt to dissuade him."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Severus, I am all too familiar with Voldemort's obsessive nature," he said tiredly. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating the lines in his ancient face. "And I appreciate the difficulty of your position. I have no intention of asking you to try and persuade him against teaching Ara."

Snape kept silent for a moment. "I will continue to keep an eye on her, then, as you wish," he finally said stiffly, rising from his seat, black cloak swishing menacingly about his feet.

"My hands are tied, Severus," said Dumbledore gently, addressing the abrupt and bitter tone in the professor's sudden advent for departure. "You know that it is not up to me to save Ara. The decision is hers alone. If she prefers to serve Voldemort, it is merely something we will have to accept."

"So we're to just sit idly on the sidelines and allow him to corrupt her?" snapped Snape. "Miss Lestrange is not mature enough to pull away from the darkness that binds her family, Headmaster. She will submit to him willingly, just like her eldest sister."

Dumbledore rubbed his forehead, looking more drawn and fatigued than ever. "I understand your concern, Severus," he answered patiently, "But I have no power over the lives of other men. Ara must make her own choices and accept responsibility for them."

Snape appeared as if he wanted to argue further, but after a moment's hesitation, he merely nodded and swept towards the door. "We will discuss this further tomorrow, if you are so inclined," he said through gritted teeth, obviously trying to keep his impatience and irritation under control.

Dumbledore bowed his head graciously. "If it so suits you, my friend," he answered quietly, folding his hands.

Snape nodded once more. "Good evening, Headmaster," he said tartly, wrenching open the door and swiftly gliding out.

Dumbledore sighed and once more rubbed his wrinkled forehead, staring unseeingly at the spot the Potions Master had stood moments before. "Good evening, Severus."

* * *

"Ara?" A hand flies in front of my face, fingers waggling furiously. "Hello? Anyone alive in there?"

I jump and upset my bowl of porridge, the contents sloshing over the sides. "Sorry," I mutter, dabbing at the mess with a napkin as Cassie and Madeleine stare at me suspiciously. "What were you saying?"

Madeleine's expression melts into one of concern. "Are you all right, Ara?" she asks kindly. "You look tired…did you have trouble sleeping? I could hear you tossing and turning all night."

_Many thanks to the Dark Lord,_ I want to say, but I bite my tongue; this seems to be the easiest excuse to grab onto. "Yeah, just…didn't sleep too well," I answer, shrugging, not meeting their eyes.

Madeleine doesn't look as if she believes me, but Cass doesn't question my story as she plows on with her own: "Well, come back to earth for a second and listen to me," she commands, smoothing the _Daily Prophet_ out in front of her. "You won't believe the rubbish the Ministry's come out with this time."

I only half pay attention as she clears her throat and reads aloud the top story of the morning: "Ministry Seeks Educational Reform. Dolores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever 'High Inquisitor.'" Her tone is commanding, authoritative; she's captured the attention of at least ten of the students sitting closest to us. Cassie's rhetoric skills are truly a force that shouldn't be reckoned with. She can make even the slightest pause seem life-shattering, and she's an expert at putting the appropriate amount of emphasis behind every verb, adjective, and punctuation mark. Her big mouth is usually reflected in her writing. I often suspect it's her charismatic writing style rather than her…_questionable_ amount of knowledge in certain subjects that slides her by on essays.

"Look, Ara, they mention your uncle!"

Startled, I glance up, knowing that I won't be able to escape again if they choose to once more interrogate me on my inattentiveness. Cassie, however, merely pushes the paper towards me, pointing towards a paragraph near the bottom: _"'I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. 'Many of us with our children's best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.'"_

I roll my eyes. My uncle has never been a great fan of Dumbledore, and it doesn't surprise me he's managed to work his opinion into the article. Quickly, I scan the length of the article. It talks about the appointment of Umbridge as Hogwarts' new High Inquisitor, a position that allows her to inspect other teachers and judge whether or not their teaching methods are up to scratch. "An immediate success," I snort, quoting one of the lines used to describe Umbridge as I hand it back to Cassie. "An immediate success at not knowing how to teach is what I hope they're referring to."

"I don't think they care whether or not she knows how to teach," Madeleine says, stirring some sugar into her coffee. "The Ministry obviously just wants to spy on Dumbledore."

"And no better way to do it than with the Umbitch," responds Cassie promptly, generating a wave of laughter from the surrounding students.

Madeleine frowns. "Umbitch?"

Cass nods. "It's her new nickname," she answers unconcernedly. "I don't care if she's against Dumbledore or not, I'm sick of reading that stupid book every day in class. She could at least make an attempt to teach us something simple. We're all going to fail our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L."

They continue to bicker about Umbridge's position in the battle between Dumbledore and the Ministry – as well as how much Cassie actually cares about passing her O.W.L.s – but I tune out, my gaze wandering over the various other pages of the _Prophet_. Another, smaller article sticking out from the bottom column of the last page grabs my attention:

Trespass at Ministry

"_Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31__st__ August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch-wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban._"

This time, my porridge flies everywhere as I drop my spoon with a _clunk!_ into my bowl. "That was my _hair_, Lestrange!" shrieks Pansy as a clump of oats lands in her dark tresses. She grabs the napkin covering Daphne's lap and begins wiping the mess out of her hair. "Do you know how _long_ it took me get it looking right this morning?"

I ignore her as I reread the article, taking in every detail. "Ara, what's wrong?" asks Madeleine, reaching for another napkin and swiping at the bits of porridge littering the table. "Are you all right?" Cassie grimaces but takes the napkin Mad offers her and helps in cleaning up.

My heart is beating faster than usual. "I…I'm fine," I say quickly, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "I…I just need to go to the library for a minute. I'll meet you guys in Transfiguration. Sorry for the mess." I stand up and hurry towards the doors of the Great Hall before any of them has a chance to deter me, the irritated squeals of Pansy still ringing in my ears.

I don't go to the library. I head to the nearest girls' bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when I find it empty. I toss my bag carelessly onto the floor and run the water in the sink until it is ice cold, splashing a handful onto my face. Panting, I glance into the mirror, wiping stray beads of water from my chin. My eyes are wild, glassy; I look as if I've just escaped from the permanent spell damage ward at St. Mungo's.

"_The Dark Lord…wants something. Something Dumbledore is determined to prevent him from obtaining_."

Uncle Lucius' words chase each other around in my mind, followed by the ones the Dark Lord had spoken to me the previous night: "_Your sister has already failed in successfully obtaining for me something I've been yearning after for quite some time…I will have to test her again before I can be sure of her competency_." And, suddenly, that day at the Ministry makes sense. It was Carina's job to control Podmore; to force him to find a way through that locked door, and she failed. Podmore was caught – explaining the Dark Lord's fury at my suggestion that he teach her and Lyra as well. It's all so clear that I don't understand how I hadn't seen it from the beginning.

The ends of my hair are soaking wet, dripping gently onto the sink; I twist them tightly, wondering vaguely whether or not Carina was punished for her failure. But it won't do me any good to dwell on my sister's mistakes right now; if I'm late for Transfiguration, I'll have another detention waiting for me tomorrow evening. Taking a deep breath, I try to push the events of the last twenty four hours out of my mind – no small feat, but I'm able to rearrange my expression into one of convincing wellness. I shut off the water and hitch my bag back up onto my shoulder, pulling my hair out from underneath the strap. It seems to take an enormous amount of effort; my bones clunk together, impeding each others' progress, and I feel suddenly exhausted, as if all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep forever.

It's going to be a long day.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures on Thursday is our first inspected lesson. "Isn't it enough seeing her in class twice a week?" Cassie whines as we head across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. Umbridge's squat form is clearly visible in the distance, her lurid pink cardigan reflecting brightly in the weak September sun, her pouchy hands grasping what appears to be a square-shaped object.

"You can never get enough of the Umbitch," I reply lightly, chuckling at the nickname. Madeleine snorts and Cassie rolls her eyes. "Umbitch," she repeats, laughing in spite of herself. The moniker hasn't left our little circle, but I have a feeling that Cass will do her best to spread it as far and wide as humanly possible.

The object in Umbridge's hands turns out to be a clipboard. "You do not usually take this class, is that correct?" she asks Professor Grubbly-Plank as my friends and I approach the trestle table containing the bowtruckles, our current creatures of study. She raises her eyebrows politely, gently tapping her quill against the board.

"Quite correct," replies Grubbly-Plank. "I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid."

"The great oaf," murmurs Draco, presumably to Crabbe and Goyle, somewhere to the left of me. "Let's see him get what he deserves here…"

I haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, but I'm sure it can mean nothing good; he's probably planning on disrupting the class somehow with exaggerated tales of Hagrid's incompetency. Slightly irritated with his childish behavior, I pull my bowtruckle drawing from my bag and continue to work on it, concentrating on naming the creature's body parts accurately. Umbridge wanders from student to student as we work, posing questions on various magical creatures. Madeleine is questioned on red caps, and Cassie endures an interrogation on unicorns, but Umbridge passes right over me, pausing only to glance at my nearly finished drawing.

"Overall," says Umbridge, returning to Professor Grubbly-Plank's side near the end of the lesson, "How do you, as a temporary member of staff – an objective outsider, I suppose you might say – how do you find Hogwarts? Do you feel you receive enough support from the school management?"

"Oh, yes, Dumbledore's excellent," responds Professor Grubbly-Plank cheerfully. "Yes, I'm very happy with the way things are run, very happy indeed."

Umbridge raises her eyebrows again, looking dubious. "And what are you planning to cover with the class this year – assuming, of course, that Professor Hagrid does not return?"

I let my attention wander as Grubbly-Plank shoots off a list of creatures, her voice booming across the grounds. My gaze wanders over to where Harry Potter sits with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. All three seem quite attentive to the exchange between Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank, but judging by their expressions, the direction the inspection is taking is not to their taste.

Umbridge, apparently finished questioning Professor Grubbly-Plank, makes her way over to Goyle. "Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?" she inquires casually, quill poised above the clipboard.

Draco opens his mouth before Goyle even has a chance to answer. "That was me," he says smugly. "I was slashed by a hippogriff."

"A hippogriff?" repeats Umbridge, scrawling furiously on her parchment.

This time it's Draco who is cut off as Harry speaks up angrily. "Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," he snaps, his eyes flashing.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the class. "Another night's detention, I think," Umbridge finally says softly, staring complacently at Harry. "Well, thank you very much, Professor Grubbly-Plank, I think that's all I need here. You will be receiving the results of your inspection within ten days."

"Jolly good," answers Professor Grubbly-Plank, waving a hand to dismiss the class. Umbridge sets off ahead of the rest of us, her stubby legs moving quickly towards the castle. With a self-satisfied smirk at Harry, Draco follows in her wake, laughing over his victory with Crabbe and Goyle. "Good going, Draco," I call irritably as he passes me, shoving my drawing into my bag.

"I rather thought so," he replies happily, obviously under the impression that I'm being sincere. He, Crabbe, and Goyle stop to wait for us. "The look on precious Potter's face…it was priceless, really. It would have been a thousand times better if she'd actually been inspecting that giant, bumbling idiot, though –"

I've been in a foul mood all week, and his arrogance does nothing to alleviate it. "Do you honestly have nothing better to do than attempt to ruin people's lives?" I snap, putting my hands on my hips. Madeleine places a warning hand on my arm, but I shake her off, continuing to glare at my cousin.

Draco studies me curiously. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, obviously perplexed. "You hate that oaf as much as I do; I'm doing this entire school a favor by telling the truth about him…and are you honestly sticking up for Potter, Ara? _Potter_?"

"I'm not sticking up for anyone, Draco, I'm speaking out against your conceited and highly annoying attitude," I answer, my patience wearing thin. "Harry Potter gets enough crap as it is, he doesn't need you adding to it…just forget it. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now." I turn and begin to lead my friends back towards the castle, but Draco grabs my arm and yanks me back around to face him. "Let me go!" I snarl, trying to jerk out of his grasp.

"Don't go turning into your _sister_," Draco hisses waspishly, his grip on my arm nearly unbearable. By the emphasis he places on the word "sister", I know for certain he is referring to Lyra. "Potter is nothing to us, Ara – don't forget who your _true_ family is. Don't you _dare_ turn traitor to us – "

"And don't you _dare_ tell me what to do!" I interject, finally succeeding in wrenching my arm from his grip. "You're babbling like an idiot, Draco, this is neither the time nor the place –"

"Stop it, Ara, let's just go," Madeleine whispers quickly, tugging on my sleeve.

"Yes, just go," Draco repeats maliciously, a hint of pink rising in his usually pale cheeks. "Run crying to your big sister, tell her everything –"

He's cut off as a wand appears between his eyes, sudden and sharp. "Leave her alone, Malfoy," Harry hisses lethally. Ron and Hermione trail behind him, looking wary.

I have barely a moment to register what's happening before Draco whips out his own wand and points it at Harry, his expression absolutely furious. "Get that wand out of my face, Potter," he whispers, his voice deadly. Crabbe and Goyle crack their knuckles menacingly. Madeleine and Cassie are watching the scene in shock.

"STOP IT," I shout, any semblance of patience I possess completely gone. "Quit being a bloody prat, Draco, it's your big mouth that started this in the first place. Just go back to the common room and we'll talk later tonight. Please."

Draco hesitates, and I know he wants badly to start a fight – but, slowly, he lowers his wand and stuffs it roughly back into his pocket. No matter how angry we get with one another, I'm the only person for whom he would do anything asked, and it's come in handy on more than one occasion growing up. "Watch yourself, Potter," he snaps, stalking across the grounds with Crabbe and Goyle, a tension in his wake.

For a moment, all any of us can do is stare at each other. "Consider yourself lucky, Potter," I say finally, adjusting my bag. "Because trust me, he won't back off as easily a second time." I turn to Cassie and Mad, who still appear to be in a state of disbelief. "Come on, let's go."

"I – I heard what you said," Harry blurts, before I can move. Hermione places a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off and steps forward. "I just wanted to say…thanks."

I pause, letting his words register. Then I beckon to my friends, gesturing for them to go ahead of me. Mad looks curious, and Cassie confused, as I turn to face Harry.

"I didn't do it for you."

* * *

The rest of September passes in a blur, a swirling mass of classes and homework. Draco and I manage a comfortable civility with one another in the passing weeks, our disagreement all but forgotten. Arguments and stress, however, run rampant among most of the student body, and the resulting coughs and colds keep Madam Pomfrey on her toes. The prospect of the first Hogsmeade visit of the year comes as a welcome relief to everyone; the first weekend in October can't arrive quickly enough. "I can't wait to just get away for a day," Cassie says wistfully the evening before, stretching luxuriously on her bed. "I'm honestly beginning to think these teachers have gone mental. McGonagall assigns a new essay practically every class! Does she think we don't have other work to get done too?"

"I don't think she cares," Madeleine replies somberly, pulling her bedspread over her head.

"Well, she should," Cass says dully, tracing the pattern of her own blankets. "I can't wait to sink my teeth into some delicious Honeydukes chocolate tomorrow…"

Honeydukes apparently isn't the only place we'll be stopping.

Lyra pulls me aside at breakfast the morning of the visit, her expression furtive. "Will you meet me in the Hog's Head at half past?" she asks, her voice hushed.

"The Hog's Head?" I repeat loudly, disgusted. "Why on earth would you want to go there?"

"Keep your voice down!" Lyra scolds, glancing around the Great Hall nervously – as if we'll be heard over the chattering of hundreds of students. "Just promise you'll meet me there, okay?"

Her surreptitious manner is perplexing to me. "Why are you acting like this is some big secret?" I ask, remembering to lower my tone. "It's not like we aren't allowed in the Hog's Head, it's not out of bounds."

Lyra grasps my hand. "Stop asking so many questions," she commands. "Bring Cassie and Mad if you have to, but keep it amongst yourselves. Please, Ara?"

I roll my eyes. "All right, all right," I agree in exasperation. "I don't know what you're up to, but it had better not anything stupid."

Lyra grins. "Thanks, Ara!" she squeals, giving my hand one more squeeze before inching back down the table to join Eleanor and Ariane. "And don't forget, half past!"

* * *

"What are we doing here again?" Cassie asks, her voice whiny, as she crams another piece of chocolate into her mouth. We'd spent the morning making our way around our favorite Hogsmeade sites, and now, as promised, were on our way to the Hog's Head to meet Lyra.

I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine," I respond, spotting my sister waiting for us outside of the bar. "She made me promise that I'd go. The two of you don't have to come, you know."

"What else are we going to do?" Madeleine says, twirling a blonde lock around her finger. "We've already been everywhere else, and besides, it will be interesting to see what's actually inside the Hog's Head."

"Hey!"

Lyra dashes up to meet us, her long, chestnut braid bouncing off of her back. "So, what's the big mystery, Lyra?" Cass inquires, licking the last of the chocolate from her fingers. "I'm rather intrigued, I must say."

"You'll see," Lyra answers cheerily, leading us towards to doors. "Just…just promise you won't leave until it's all been explained, all right?"

Cassie agrees immediately; Madeleine hesitates a moment before giving her assent. I don't say anything at all as Lyra pulls the door open and ushers us inside ahead of her. Apprehensive, I cross my arms and step over the threshold, taking in my surroundings.

Based on general talk about the Hog's Head, I've always imagined it to be a dark, tiny, grubby place, occupied by perhaps one or two odd inhabitants. The exact opposite holds true here; the bar is bustling with the noise and chatter of about twenty five Hogwarts students – all Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. I easily recognize Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley kids, as well as a few other students from my year, but many of the other faces remain a mystery. The barman is staring at them irritably, wiping off the counter with a greasy rag. About four other non-Hogwarts patrons occupy the bar, their faces all hidden by some sort of hood or veil, making it difficult to tell whether or not the students are annoying them as well.

"What are _they_ doing here?"

I look up at the sound of the evidently unwelcoming words. A blonde boy near the end of the table is glaring at us rudely. For a moment, he reminds me of Draco, but almost instantly after I vaguely recognize him as a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. "Do you have a problem, Smith?" Madeleine spits back just as curtly, crossing her arms defiantly. Of course, she'd know who he is.

Smith scowls, his expression extremely sour. "Only with everyone in your House," he answers haughtily. "No one invited you here, Abgrall, so why don't you just –"

"They're here at my invitation," Hermione interrupts firmly, standing up authoritatively. Funny. I don't remember being invited to anything. But her words shut Smith up, though he continues to glower at the four of us, his feelings written quite clearly on his face.

"Er…would you like to sit down?" Hermione asks, somewhat timidly, indicating a few empty chairs around the table.

I give Lyra a look, silently asking her what the hell she's gotten us into.

My sister ignores me and smiles warmly at Hermione. "Thank you," she says politely, leading us over to the chairs. I plop down between her and Madeleine, uncomfortably aware that all eyes are focused accusingly on us, though I can't pinpoint exactly what it is – besides belonging to Slytherin House – that we've done wrong.

"Er," Hermione says again, clearing her throat. "Well – er – hi."

Thankfully, everyone switches their attention over to her, though eyes frequently dart over to us and to Harry. "What is this?" Madeleine mutters to me.

"I guess we'll see."

"Well…erm…well, you know why you're here." ("No, we don't," Cassie grumbles sarcastically.) "Erm…well, Harry here had the idea – I mean, I had the idea – that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts – and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us, because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts. And, well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

Hermione pauses, glancing over at Harry. "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells."

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too, then, I bet?" says a Ravenclaw boy from my year. I search my mind for his name but find I can't remember it.

"Of course I do," says Hermione. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defense because…because…" she draws in a deep, shaky breath. "Because Lord Voldemort is back."

A Ravenclaw girl a few seats down from me shrieks and spills butterbeer down her front. Neville Longbottom emits a strange sort of yelp that he quickly turns into a hacking cough. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stare at Hermione, open-mouthed, an expression mirrored by most others at the table. My heart is pounding so forcefully I'm afraid it's going to burst out of my chest. I turn to look at Lyra; her face is unreadable, but the looks on Cassie's and Maddie's faces are plain as day: they're quite visibly shocked, as if they can't quite believe what they've just heard.

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" asks Smith the Quidditch player rather tauntingly, leaning back in his chair and glaring at Hermione pointedly.

Hermione bites her lip. "Well, Dumbledore believes it –"

"You mean Dumbledore believes _him_," Smith interrupts, nodding at Harry.

Murmurs begin to make their way around the table, questioning the validity of Hermione's statement. Madeleine has her back to me, whispering fiercely to Cassie, and I can't help but wonder if they're talking about me and the truth I've obviously withheld from them. Angrily, I pinch Lyra's arm and pull her ear toward my mouth. "Are you completely _crazy_?" I whisper furiously. "You've brought us to some meeting so _Harry Potter_ can teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts and let the entire world know that the Dark Lord is back? Lyra, what in the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"I thought you'd be raring to join!" Lyra hisses back adamantly. "You've seen how he's changed Carina, who knows how many other of our friends and family he's going to corrupt –"

"Yeah, and who knows what he's going to do when he _finds out about this?_" I snap. Somewhere in the background I can hear the others interrogating Harry on whether or not he can produce a Patronus. "You can't imagine this is going to stay a secret, Lyra. Do you understand how dangerous this is? How risky of a position you're putting us in? And exactly how accepting do you think the other Houses are going to be? You saw how Smith acted when we walked in – they don't like us, Lyra. We're Slytherins. They're going to automatically assume we're against them – "

"I wouldn't be surprised," Smith booms over me, his haughty gaze now turned onto my sister and me. "You probably knew all along, didn't you?" He snorts and runs a hand through his blonde hair. "What the hell makes you think any of us are going to trust _you?_"

"Can it, _Zacharias_," sneers Fred or George Weasley – I can't tell which. "Harry trusts them, that's good enough for me."

"Yeah, and how much do you trust a guy who's trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" Smith shoots back. "We've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it."

"That's not what he said," snarls the same twin.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" inquires the other, pulling a long, terrible-looking instrument out of a Zonko's bag.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," says the first twin nonchalantly.

Hermione hurries to intervene. "Yes, well, moving on…the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

A general murmur of assent travels around the table until all eyes are resting on Cassie, Mad, my sister, and me. "Well? How about it?" asks Hermione hopefully.

"You know I'm in, Hermione," Lyra at once replies gracefully.

Hermione nods. "Ara? Cassandra? Madeleine?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't," I answer firmly.

"Why, because you're on You-Know-Who's side?" Smith asks me brusquely. "It's no secret your parents were two of his biggest supporters…following in their footsteps, Lestrange? Going to go turn us all in the second this meeting's over?"

My veins turn to ice. "I don't need to explain myself to you," I growl, getting to my feet.

Smith immediately stands too. "Personally, I'd like to hear an explanation," he retorts. "If what Potter says is true, how do we _know_ you aren't really on You-Know-Who's side? Your sister was pretty quick to join, but you're holding out. Can't deny that that looks a bit suspicious."

"Shut up, Smith," Harry says quietly, the first time I've actually heard him speak today. "She wouldn't be here if I didn't think she was trustworthy."

Smith shrugs and resumes his seat. "All I'm saying, Potter, is that maybe you're making a mistake."

"Well, you won't have to worry about it, because I'm not joining!" I say harshly, pushing in my chair more forcefully than needed. The impact sends a beerbutter flying to the ground; the bottle smashes loudly, causing the barman to look up crossly in my direction. "And I'll just clear out of here so you can continue on without having to wonder whether I'm sitting here planning on turning you in." I make towards the door, but Lyra grabs my arm and holds tight. "Let me go, Lyra!"

"Ara, please!" she whispers pleadingly. "Please, don't go. We have to do something. Please. Taking a stand against him is the only way. Please, Ara!"

She looks so hopeful, her dark eyes shining with anticipation. It breaks my heart to hurt her, but this isn't something I believe in as easily or as strongly as she does, and I can't understand how she doesn't see how badly this could all go. "I can't take the chance, Lyra," I say softly. "I'm sorry."

Lyra stands, her face mere inches from mine. I have to tilt my head back a bit to look her squarely in the face – she's always been the tallest of the three of us. "Don't walk away," she implores, completely unaware of the fact that we've now captured the attention of the entire pub. "Listen to me, Ara. This could be the only chance we have to put our family back together."

I don't say anything for a moment. It feels like thousands of eyes are on me, analyzing my every move, my very being. "On the contrary, Lyra," I finally respond coldly, stepping away from her and towards the door, "You've just ruined any shadow of a chance we had."


	10. The Truth Shall Set You Free

**A/N:** Hello everyone! I just want to take the time to thank a few people who reviewed the last chapter.

**Jazz E. Roisin**: Thank you so much for all your encouragement! It made my day to open my email and see I had several review from you.

**SweetieCherrie**: Ugh, I know how you feel…I'd desperately love for Ara and Lyra to join the Golden Trio, but things are too complicated for it work out that easily.

Thank you to everyone else who's reviewed so far, I truly appreciate it! I hope you'll continue to do so, as it's your reviews that push me to keep writing =] Now, on to chapter 9!

* * *

**Chapter 9 – The Truth Shall Set You Free**

_My dear Ara,_

_Your letters leave much to be desired, my darling niece. I know that you have been forbidden to speak, but it pains me to have to accept this. It is wrong of me to ask you to break your silence, certainly, but you have to understand, Ara, you are much too young to be involved in any of this. The only worry darkening your mind should be your O.W.L.s, and it infuriates me that I don't know the nature of the mysterious burden placed on your shoulders. But you are stubborn, just like your uncle and sister, and I know it would be foolish to attempt to reason with the three of you._

_ Speaking of your uncle, he sends his love. He's been rather busy at the Ministry lately, helping with Fudge's latest decree. I daresay you will find out about that soon enough, so I won't risk detailing it here, but hopefully it will manage to exercise a little more control over the less worthy Houses of Hogwarts._

_ Carina extends her regards to you as well. She's managed to secure a job in the Ministry, I'll have her write and tell you all about it._

_ Stay safe, my love. Remember, I am only an owl away._

_All my love,_

_Aunt Cissy_

I scratch Orion behind the ears absentmindedly as I read, his throat vibrating against my stomach with a contented purring. I reach the end of my aunt's letter and roll my eyes, folding it neatly along the creases and tossing it on to the table in front of me. Abraxas hoots softly from his position on the mantle, his amber eyes fixed on me reproachfully. "I don't have anything for you," I tell him, a bite of impatience in my voice. "Should have waited until tomorrow and came with the morning post, shouldn't you have?"

Abraxas emits another doleful hoot. I immediately regret snapping at him; I know none of this is his fault. I sigh tiredly and rub my forehead, glancing at the ornate, emerald-faced grandfather clock in the corner of the Slytherin common room: nearly 12:30 A.M. I'd managed to avoid everyone after the disastrous scene in the Hog's Head, returning to the castle without Cassie and Madeleine and spending nearly the entire evening in the library. Madam Pince had finally kicked me out at around nine, snapping at me to return her precious books and get to bed. I'd sought refuge in the trophy room instead, however, perusing a Potions journal I'd been able to nick when Madam Pince's back was turned and praying that Filch wouldn't catch me. When I was certain my friends and sister had gone to bed, I took the quickest route I knew back to the Slytherin common room – and that's when I spotted Abraxas, following me from window to window as I crossed the first floor and pecking feverishly on the glass until I let him in.

Aunt Cissy's letter comes as no surprise to me; she's been sending them every few days since my trip to the manor in an attempt to convince me to tell her what happened that night. The only thing I'm convinced of is that she orders Abraxas to bring the letters directly to me no matter what time it is or where I am – the poor thing has already shown up in half of my classes, bearing a roll of parchment with the Malfoy seal. "I'm sorry, Abraxas," I apologize to the owl, coaxing him over and holding my arm out for him to rest on. He hesitates before defiantly obliging, landing a little harder than necessary and turning his head from me. "Come on, don't be like that," I say softly, stroking his feathered head. "I'll give you extra at breakfast tomorrow morning, all right? I promise."

Abraxas fixes me with a beady eye, then gives an agreeable hoot. At the noise, Orion stands and stretches luxuriously, then settles back down and nuzzles his head against my arm. Yawning, I lie back in my armchair and stroke his head, wondering if Carina has figured out yet that I took the cat to school with me – she's almost obsessively possessive about Orion, even though he was a gift to the four of us the year Draco and I started at Hogwarts. Thoughts of the day – as well as Aunt Cissy's reference to the mysterious new decree – swim through my head, but I'm so mentally exhausted that the images aren't clear, merely a blurred mess of colors and faces. I feel myself dozing off as the last flames of the fire die down to nothing more than glowing coals, reflecting weakly off of the glass table…

"Miss Ara Lestrange!"

I nearly jump out of my skin. Orion hisses in fright and digs his claws into my thigh as he leaps to the ground, causing me to yelp with pain; Abraxas screeches and glides back to the mantle. Heart racing, I turn around in my chair and spot a house elf, her large eyes wide as she twists the hem of her Hogwarts toga in her tiny hands. "What the _hell_?" I ask wildly, running a hand through my hair. "You can't just go sneaking up on people like that, give me a bloody heart attack – "

"Winnie is sorry, miss, but Winnie has an important message for Miss Ara," the elf squeaks, pulling a roll of parchment from the pocket of her toga and handing it to me.

I stare down at it, dumbfounded. "And you found 12:30 in the morning to be the most convenient time to give it to me?"

"Miss was not at dinner," the elf replies smoothly. "Professor Umbridge asked Winnie to deliver the message earlier, miss, but miss was nowhere to be found!"

"You managed to find me now," I mutter sullenly. I glance down at the letter in my hands. "This is from Professor Umbridge?"

The elf nods vigorously, her batlike ears slapping the sides of her face. "Yes, miss," she answers cheerily. "And now that Winnie has done her duty, miss, she must kindly ask that you return to bed, miss. It is late, and Winnie has much cleaning around the Slytherin dungeons to be getting on with, miss."

I'm definitely exhausted, and Cassie and Madeleine had to have fallen asleep hours ago. "All right," I mumble, vaguely wondering when Umbridge had time to seek out an elf to do her bidding, as well as what in the world she could possibly want from me. "Thank you – er – Winnie, is it?"

"Yes, miss, Winnie at your service!" the elf replies, bowing deeply.

"Er…right," I say, unsuccessfully trying to smother a yawn. "Listen, while you're here, would you mind taking my owl back to the Owlery? He can't stay here…I'd take him myself, but I don't think I'll be lucky enough to dodge Filch _all_ night –"

"Winnie will attend to it, miss!" she answers, apparently overjoyed that I've added another task to her list. She runs to the mantle and holds out a tiny arm to Abraxas. The owl glances at me warily, as if he can't believe I'm entrusting him to a Hogwarts house elf, but I prompt him with a nod. Looking thoroughly disgruntled, he drops softly onto Winnie's shoulder, purposefully ignoring her outstretched arm.

"To bed now, if you please, miss, and Winnie will take good care of miss' owl!" the elf says confidently as I head towards the girls' dormitories. "Sleep well, Miss Ara, and perhaps Winnie will be fortunate enough to encounter such a kind miss again!"

I roll my eyes once more as I reach the peace of the staircase; that "over-eagerness to please" quality that most house elves possess gets irritating after so long. I pause and drop down onto the third stair, unfurling Umbridge's parchment as I do so:

_Miss Lestrange,_

_ If it so suits you, I should like to have the pleasure of your company tomorrow afternoon for tea. I shall expect you in my office no later than four o'clock._

_Sincerely,_

_Dolores Umbridge_

An invitation to afternoon tea with the Umbitch.

What a perfect end to the day.

* * *

I wait until Cassie and Madeleine have dressed and gone down to breakfast the next morning before getting out of bed. I toss my hair up into a messy bun, running over in my mind what I'm going to say to them – I can't avoid them forever, and besides, after skipping dinner the previous night, I'm starving. I come up with no believable excuses, however, for keeping the truth hidden from them, and the only course of action seems to be to corroborate Harry's story. Sighing heavily, I take one last look in the mirror before heading back into the dormitory and towards the door, taking care not to wake the still slumbering Pansy and Daphne.

The Great Hall is, as usual, crowded with the hustle and bustle of hundreds of students. I glance automatically up at the staff table as I enter, unintentionally catching Professor Umbridge's eye. She nods politely and smiles widely, wordlessly confirming that I'll turn up outside her office at precisely 4:00. Feeling a bit of my appetite ebb away, I take my usual seat at the Slytherin table, taking harsh notice of the way Cassie and Madeleine immediately fall silent.

"Hey, Ara," Cassie says after a moment. I may just be imagining it, but her usually boisterous demeanor seems somehow softer and more guarded. "Where were you last night?"

"We were worried," Madeleine adds, as I load my plate with eggs and toast. "You missed dinner."

I take a large bite of toast before answering. "I was in the library," I say finally, as the post owls fly in with the morning mail. I spy Abraxas among them, making a beeline towards me. "Calm down, I'm not going to break my promise, you idiot," I tell the owl irritably as he lands heavily next to my plate, jostling for a bit of my food. I separate a portion of eggs from my plate and, for the promised extra treat, toss in a few morsels of toast.

Abraxas gobbles up the food quickly, brushing my shoulder affectionately with his wings as he takes off. The air between my friends and I is still rather uncomfortable, and I pretend not to notice them exchange looks before Cassie speaks again. "We…um…we didn't join, Ara," she says, a bit timidly.

"Lyra was terribly angry," Madeleine whispers, glancing down the table to make sure my sister is out of earshot. She's at almost the other end, determinedly avoiding looking down our way. "And I can't say any of the others were very happy, either…that git Smith still thinks we're going to turn them all in."

I snort. "How surprising," I mutter, taking a sip of my pumpkin juice. My friends _seem_ normal, but I know I'm not out of the woods yet; the Dark Lord is bound to come up sooner or later.

"Granger made us swear that we wouldn't tell anyone," Cassie adds, pushing her eggs around on her plate absentmindedly. "I don't understand why she trusts us so much, _I_ certainly wouldn't trust any of _them_ so easily."

"It's Ara they trust, not us," Madeleine corrects her.

"Then why would they invite us along too?"

"I don't know, Cassie. Perhaps they think that since we're her friends, we're just as trustworthy?"

"It was Lyra who told me to bring the pair of you," I interrupt them, setting my fork down. "She must have mentioned it to Harry and Hermione, they didn't question any of us being there."

We're quiet for a few minutes, finishing our breakfasts in silence. I can tell both of them are bursting to question me, and I put my money on Cassie to crack first. Sure enough, the silence becomes too much for her to bear and she spits it out, her words quick and to the point: "Is Potter's story true?"

I really and truly don't want to deal with this. I take my time in answering, choosing to polish off my eggs first. Finally, when I can stall no more, I take a deep breath and look up. Two pairs of eyes are staring at me quizzically. "Ara?" prods Cassie. "You can tell us. It's okay."

Her words do nothing to reassure me, but all the same I glance around us to make sure no one is listening. I've made my decision – either way, they're going to find out eventually. "Yes," I whisper miserably. "It's true. All of it."

Neither of them looks as if they quite know what to say. Cassie's fork is frozen in midair, a bit of scrambled egg wobbling precariously on the edge. The expression on her face is easy to interpret: shocked, but curious at the same time. Madeleine is a little more difficult to read, her brow furrowed as she twirls a lock of blonde hair aimlessly around her finger, wincing when she pulls too hard on her scalp. If the situation weren't so serious I might find their reactions comical.

Cassie, predictably, recovers her powers of speech first. "Did Potter really witness his return, then?" she asks, throwing her fork down and regarding me with interest. "How exactly did he come back? I mean, he was just a spirit before, wasn't he? Well, when he wasn't poking out of the back of teachers' heads, that is –"

"Why didn't you tell us, Ara?" Madeleine cuts across her, posing the question I'd been expecting to hear since yesterday afternoon. Her voice holds the tiniest hint of an accusation, and I can tell she'd wanted me to deny everything, to tell them it wasn't true.

I bite my lip, unsure of how to answer her. Thankfully, the ever-tactless Cassie saves me the trouble of doing so: "What's wrong with you, Lady Marianne?" she says, giving Madeleine a look that suggests she's out of her mind. "I wouldn't tell anyone either! I'd be afraid everyone would turn against me! What are you, insane?"

"Is that what you thought, Ara?" Mad asks coldly. "That we'd turn against you?"

I'm still speechless, unable to form my thoughts into coherent words. My expression apparently speaks for itself, however, because Madeleine stands angrily, her next words like a slap to the face. "We've always stood by you, Ara," she snaps, causing several students to turn and stare. "Nobody knows you better than we do. Did you really think we'd abandon you over something like this, no matter how terrible it is? Do you really think that little of our friendship?"

My mouth drops open. "Mad, please," I plead, knowing I need to do something to pacify her before it's too late. "You – you don't know what it's like –"

"That's right, I don't come from a family of Death Eaters," Madeleine retorts, her light blue eyes flashing. "I wouldn't know what it's like, would I?"

I feel as if I've just had the wind knocked out of me. "Way below the belt, Maddie," Cassie hisses, crossing her arms and fixing Madeleine with a scolding look.

"Shut up, Cass," Madeleine spits at her. She turns back to me. "What's the matter, Ara? Nothing to say?"

This is entirely what I'd been wishing to avoid. I'd pictured my friends reacting in this manner a million times over, but actually seeing it played out in front of me is nothing short of disconcerting. "I hadn't wanted you to find out like this," I murmur, staring down at my plate. "I swear, Mad, I only kept this from you because I didn't want it to ruin our friendship. I…I didn't want you guys to see me like everybody else does. Like everybody else will, once they find out the truth."

Madeleine gives me a look of deepest disgust. "It's a bit late for that, wouldn't you say?" she says nastily, spinning on her heel and stalking out of the Great Hall, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

My entire body feels numb; it's a struggle to breathe and to be quite honest, I have no idea what to do. Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over. I look over at Cassie expectantly, fighting to keep my tears at bay, waiting for her to walk out on me too.

After a moment, Cassie reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "You're still you, Ara," she says softly. "You're still _you_."

* * *

I reach Dolores Umbridge's office at exactly four, taking a moment to smooth my robes before knocking on her door. "You're having tea with the _Umbitch_?" Cass had asked incredulously when I'd told her of my afternoon plans. "She wrote to you and invited you to _tea_? Seriously?"

"Seriously," I'd repeated, flipping disinterestedly through my Charms book. We'd been sitting in the common room, each attempting to work on the essay on Silencing Charms Professor Flitwick had set us, Madeleine nowhere to be found.

Cassie had scribbled down a sentence, reread it, and then crossed it out. "What does she want?" she'd asked, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration.

I'd shrugged. "I don't know. I'll let you know. If I manage to survive, that is."

_If I manage to survive_, I think sardonically to myself, hesitating before knocking gently on Umbridge's door. "Come in," she calls sweetly, and I push open the door and enter.

The second I do I feel as if I should have brought a pair of those Muggle glasses – _shades_, I believe they're called – in order to spare my vision: a shock of bright, hot pink assaults my eyesight like a jolt of lightning. It's everywhere, on the walls, on the dead-looking flowers residing in a vase on her desk, on the lacy cloths covering every surface of her office, on the ugly ornamental plates decorating the wall furthest from the door. All I can do is stare, growing slowly nauseated, until Umbridge speaks again.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lestrange!"

She's sitting behind her desk, beaming, tea already prepared. "Good afternoon," I reply warily, not moving an inch from the doorway.

Umbridge's smile grows wider, and once again I'm surprised at how much it's possible for her to resemble a toad. "Sit down, dear," she says kindly, drawing her wand and conjuring a seat for me in front of her desk. I sit down gingerly, watching as she pours me a cup of tea, adding milk and sugar at my discretion. "Well now, Miss Lestrange," she says finally, once she's fixed herself with a cup as well, "I must say I'm rather pleased to finally have the opportunity to chat with you outside of class!"

Her words remind me unpleasantly of the Dark Lord. I sip my tea slowly, waiting for her to go on.

Umbridge surveys me closely. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Lestrange?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No."

Umbridge sets her cup down and locks her fingers together, resting them on the desk in front of her. "I think, Miss Lestrange, it would be rather appropriate for us to have a talk after the incident that occurred at the Hog's Head yesterday afternoon," she says gravely, gauging my reaction.

I nearly choke on my tea. "I – incident?" I repeat, bewildered. _She can't know. She can't. There's no way._

Umbridge grins smugly, stretching her pallid features. "Yes, I thought you might remember it," she says lightly. "I should like to thank you, Miss Lestrange."

I stare at her, utterly perplexed. "Thank me?"

"Yes, thank you," Umbridge responds. "As I'm certain you are very well aware, I have been trying since the beginning of the school year to quash Harry Potter's unfortunate tendency towards chronic lying – an endeavor, I'm sorry to say, that has so far had little effect on his impudent mind. That being said – and due to the fact that I regrettably cannot keep my eye on him at all times – it is useful to me to have others keep me up to date on his antics."

I listen carefully, having a vague idea of what she's getting at.

"It was Willy Widdershins – the heavily bandaged fellow, as you might recall – who immediately alerted me to Potter's intention to start a secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group," Umbridge goes on. "He also informed me of the – shall I say, for lack of a better word, _scene_ that you caused in response to this group." She offers me a tin filled with ginger cookies.

I take one, nibbling on it nervously.

"You made the right choice, Miss Lestrange," Umbridge says, sounding unusually proud. "It is wise in these times to ally yourself with the Ministry. Potter is nothing but a nasty, attention-seeking liar, and such behavior is not acceptable within this school." She finishes off her tea. "You've earned your House twenty points, Miss Lestrange, as well as my favor."

I slouch a bit in my chair, irritated with this entire meeting. I'm relieved that Umbridge thinks I only told off Lyra because I'm against Potter's defense group, and not because my sister was actually considering joining – extremely relieved. But the fact that she's awarded me House points tells me much more. "Are you asking me to spy on Harry Potter?" I ask bluntly, jumping straight to the point.

Umbridge laughs girlishly. "My, you _are_ an intelligent girl," she says, apparently impressed that I've caught on so quickly. "Not _spy_, Miss Lestrange, that has such a negative connotation – merely keep an eye on Potter when I'm not around. Report to me with any false stories he may be spreading around the school. I encourage all students to come to me for the truth, Miss Lestrange, and I won't have vicious little brats like Potter besmirching the halls of Hogwarts with their filthy lies."

I'm at a loss for words. Umbridge is watching me closely, as if she already knows what my answer is going to be. More from of a desire to get out of her office than anything else, I decide to appease her: "I'll do my best."

Umbridge smiles widely. "Good girl," she simpers, satisfied, though I don't mean a word of what I've just pledged. "It's always reassuring to know I can still count on those from my own House, despite how long I've been out of school." She pulls out her wand, Vanishing the tea set with a wave. "You are dismissed."

* * *

Hermione takes her usual seat next to me Monday afternoon in Arithmancy. I'm surprised; after the Hogsmeade visit and Umbridge's latest decree (Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four – the prohibition of any team, group, club, etc. that does not have permission to exist from the High Inquisitor), the last thing I'd anticipate from her is an attempt at any sort of friendship. "Hello, Ara," she greets me politely, swinging her enormous bag onto the desk in front of her. I half expect it to collapse under the weight of all her books.

I watch her struggle to prevent her bag from toppling over. "Hi, Hermione," I reply, setting down my quill. "Do you need a hand?"

"Oh – no – I've got it, thanks," Hermione says breathlessly, managing to balance her books. She begins rummaging through her bag, presumably searching for her Arithmancy book.

I nod but don't say anything else, hoping she won't continue to talk to me. No such luck. "Um…so, I suppose you saw Umbridge's latest decree this morning," Hermione says, somewhat nervously, sliding into her seat.

I should have known I'd have to endure a round of questioning on this, and I realize I'm sick and tired of being constantly interrogated. "I didn't say anything to her, Hermione," I answer irritably, doodling aimlessly on the corner of my parchment. "Doubt me if you'd like, I can't say it's entirely unexpected."

"I don't doubt you, Ara," Hermione says quietly, her dark brown eyes sincere and earnest, and I can tell she genuinely means it. "Harry trusts you and your sister."

"My sister won't even speak to me," I admit grudgingly, crossing my arms. Lyra has maintained a stony silence since Saturday's events, though I've tried once or twice to get her to break her icy distance. "Not that any of that matters to you… I just don't understand what Harry sees in us. Draco hates him, you would think Harry would treat us in the same manner."

Hermione shrugs. "You stuck up for him," she says simply. "And against Malfoy himself, at that."

I snort. "That wasn't me sticking up for Harry. That was me trying to stop Draco from being his prat self."

Hermione smiles gently. "Either way, that's what sets you apart. I personally think it's rather beneficial for Harry to try for a bit of inter-House unity with Slytherin." She falls silent and stares down at her book, frustration overcoming her features. "I just wish I knew who had done _this_…it can't have been anyone in the D.A., I cursed that parchment they all signed, if one of them had told, I'd know right away…"

"It wasn't anyone in the group," I interrupt her fretting. "Nor was it Cassie or Madeleine…" I hesitate, wondering if I should reveal who the true culprit was. What can it hurt? "It was another man in the pub. The one wrapped up in bandages? He told on you – well, more specifically, on Harry – to Umbridge."

Hermione turns red with fury. "How do you know?" she asks, her voice trembling.

I hesitate once more, but decide I may as well tell her everything. "Umbridge told me. She thinks I was trying to stand up to you guys."

"That twisted – mad – horrible old hag!" Hermione spits out, her cheeks growing even more crimson. "Oh, wait until Harry hears about this – we can't keep on with the D.A. if she knows about us – I absolutely abhor that woman!"

We both look up as Professor Vector enters, precariously balancing a stack of homework in one hand and her briefcase in the other. Umbridge's toad-like face appears in my mind, glowing, giving every impression that she expects nothing but loyalty from me in the future. "You and I both," I mutter, accepting the homework assignment Professor Vector hands back to me, a bright red E shining in the upper corner.

* * *

It's another tough week. Neither Lyra nor Madeleine speaks to me, and poor Cassie, trapped in the middle, does her best to be impartial. It's easy to avoid Madeleine, as she has Quidditch practice nearly every evening, but Lyra is a bit more difficult; I can feel her burning, reproving looks from across the crowded common room. I want to make peace with my sister, but I don't know what I'd say – I've betrayed her, perhaps not in the worst way possible, but definitely badly enough to hurt.

I head down to the lake after dinner Sunday evening, intending on having a few moments' peace to myself. Madeleine had made several subtle, cutting jabs about me to Cassie throughout the meal, never mentioning my name directly, but leaving no doubt that I was the subject of her remarks. Entirely fed up with her attitude, I'd told Cassie that I was taking a walk on my own and left before she could try to stop me.

I reach the lake and take a seat on the grass, knowing I'm probably not supposed to be out here but not really caring. The giant squid floats lazily on top of the water, seemingly asleep, its tentacles twitching every so often and creating a gentle ripple effect. For October, it's still reasonably warm, but the foreshadowing of fall is undeniable: the tops of the trees that make up the Forbidden Forest are turning a light golden brown, and there's a crispness in the air that occasionally chills me and makes me wish I'd brought my cloak.

"Moneroy told me you'd be out here."

I start and turn around. Draco is standing there, arms crossed casually, his trademark smirk in place. "What do you want?" I grumble, turning back to the lake. I'm really not in the mood to deal with his smart ass comments at the moment.

Draco drops his arms and bends down, grasping a smooth granite rock firmly in his hand. "Remember when we were kids and spent hours at that lake near the manor?" he asks, studying the rock intently. "Car and I were the champions at skipping rocks." To prove his point, he draws back his arm and skips the rock over the surface of the water, putting just the right flick on his wrist to make it travel a good distance. It finally hits one of the giant squid's tentacles, and the creature lets out a screech of annoyance, glaring at Draco with one scarlet eye.

"What do you want, Draco?" I repeat, rolling my eyes.

Draco sits down next to me, drawing his knees up under his arms. "I heard what Abgrall was saying to you at dinner," he says quietly. "I should have jinxed her into oblivion."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter," I say, admiring the way the sun casts a pinkish-orange reflection on the lake's surface. "They would have found out eventually. I suppose I'm just lucky Cassie isn't treating me like I have some sort of infectious disease."

"All the same, Abgrall's your friend," Draco points out. "If Crabbe or Goyle treated me the way she's been treating you I'd pummel them."

"Crabbe and Goyle come from Death Eater families, Draco, they would never act that way towards you," I retort. "Madeleine doesn't. She doesn't know how else to react."

"And that makes it acceptable?"

I shrug. "No. Not really. But that's just the way it is."

We sit in silence for a moment, watching as the giant squid awakens fully and disappears under the water. "This is all precious Potter's fault, starting stupid defense groups," Draco finally says disgustedly, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. "And Lyra… believing all his nonsense –"

"How did you know about that?" I interject, looking at him curiously. "Don't tell me you mentioned anything about it to Umbridge –"

Draco smirks. "I thought about it, but unfortunately somebody beat me to the punch," he answers nonchalantly. "Lyra tried to convince me to join, as if I'd lower myself enough to mingle with Potter's band of Muggle lovers and Mudbloods…it doesn't surprise me that she's joined up, though, next thing you know she'll be married to a Weasley."

"She's ignoring me," I whisper, the breeze ruffling my hair. "So is Madeleine."

"Abgrall is a bitch," Draco says, point-blank, putting his arm around me and pulling me close. "And Lyra will come to her senses once she realizes how absolutely foolish it is to side with Potter." He gives me a little squeeze. "It will all turn out in our favor, Ara."

I rest my head tiredly against his shoulder, blinking back tears. "Do you promise?"

Draco chuckles and kisses the side of my forehead. "I promise."

* * *

Aww, a little cousin love. I felt they needed it after the fight from the previous chapter, lol.

Reviews would be appreciated!


	11. Stress & Stardust

**A/N: **I know, I know – another long time between updates =[ Again, I apologize, but luckily for you all school is out now, and I have the entire summer to write! I'm going to try and eliminate a lot of the time between updates, so hopefully the next chapter will be out relatively soon. But for now, enjoy, and if you're so inclined, leave a review!

Some dialogue is taken from HP and the Order of the Phoenix.

**Chapter 10 – Stress & Stardust **

He was still furious over her failure with Podmore – Carina could practically taste the anger radiating from him every time she was in his presence. She felt the intensity of his gaze upon her, could sense the reserve with which he now often regarded her. There was no blaming the Dark Lord, however; the situation with Sturgis Podmore was entirely her fault, and the countless rounds of the Cruciatus Curse she'd endured from it served to reinforce that sentiment. Her first mission, and she'd failed miserably.

She was lucky she hadn't been ousted from the Dark Lord's circle automatically.

"Good morning, Evelyn."

Startled – and entirely unaccustomed to being called by another name – she nearly upset her ink bottle, managing to catch it just in time. "Colette," she acknowledged the other, frowning as she noticed the few droplets of ink that had somehow succeeded in escaping the bottle, smudging her parchment. Grumbling to herself, she pulled out her wand and began to siphon away the damage.

Colette set her bag down on her desk and began to rummage through it. "Did you finish that draft for Yaxley?" she asked vaguely, flipping through her own notes about the new restrictions Britain was proposing be placed on trade with certain countries.

Carina finished removing the ink stains from her parchment and held it out, good as new, to her coworker. "Right here," she said simply, mentally cringing as she heard the light, sing-song tone of a voice that didn't belong to her. Nothing was hers anymore – the caramel curls flowing down her back, the light grey of her eyes, the three inches in height that she'd gained. All effects of the Polyjuice Potion. All meant to turn her into Evelyn Curry, high-ranking employee in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She didn't know how she'd managed to secure a job of such caliber. The influence of her uncle, she supposed, as well as a significant amount of gold changing hands. This is where the Dark Lord wanted her to be, however, and she certainly wasn't foolish enough to question his motives. She would do anything to make up for her mistake – she was nothing like Lyra, who would have deemed her attempts at redemption completely foolish. Carina grit her teeth angrily at the thought of her younger sister. Lyra was so stubborn, so incredibly _stupid_, and it was quite obvious that she was headed for trouble. Carina had tried, many times, to bring her sister to her senses, but Lyra was hopelessly hooked on such trite ideas as _peace_ and _family_. She didn't understand that there was so much more to the world – power, knowledge, immense wealth – so much more that the Dark Lord could show her.

And then there was Ara. Carina blocked out Colette's mindless chatter – the woman could go on for _hours_ about practically nothing – as her thoughts turned swiftly to her youngest sister. Ara was, undoubtedly, a great threat to her. She'd heard the way her master spoke of her to Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa; he was absolutely convinced that Ara would be an even greater asset to his ranks than Bellatrix. Carina didn't see what was so terribly special about her sister. Ara was beautiful and smart, surely, but she, Carina, was the eldest Lestrange daughter. _She_ deserved all the honor and glory that came along with being Bellatrix Lestrange's firstborn. She could be ruthless, heartless, distant and cold. She had the rare ability to block off any emotion that threatened to steal her focus and perform any task her lord asked of her – even murder.

The murder of the woman sitting across from her.

"Evelyn?"

Carina jumped once more, Colette's voice startling her back to reality. "Sorry, what?" she asked vaguely, inwardly cursing herself for being caught off guard twice in less than ten minutes. _Always be aware._

Colette looked at her strangely."I asked if you were ready to head up to that meeting with Joan," she said, studying her intently. "Are you all right?"

Carina nodded and shuffled a few papers on desk, avoiding Colette's gaze. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Colette continued to scrutinize her. "I don't know. You just seem a little off today."

Carina laughed airily. "Just a little tired. I was up late working on that draft." She stood and made her way towards the door, pulling it open for her coworker. "Ready?"

After a moment's hesitation, Colette nodded and got to her feet. "Ready to be bored to tears," she muttered sarcastically, stepping out of the open door. "I absolutely hate these ridiculous department meetings – "

She continued to speak as they headed down the corridor and towards the lift, but Carina's mind was miles away again, obsessing over the most recent task her master had set her. Colette was an annoyingly cheerful chatterbox, certainly, but she was also an extremely intelligent and capable witch, barely hindered by her middle aged status. Her murder would definitely not be an easy charge to carry out. _But, _Carina reminded herself composedly, _he doesn't want me to kill her just yet. All I have to do is gather information. Become her friend. Gain her trust..._

She had no idea why the Dark Lord wanted Colette dead, nor what kind of information he was hoping to get from her. Colette, as far as Carina knew, had never even set foot in the Department of Mysteries, and therefore would be completely useless in leaking information on how to retrieve a prophecy. All Carina knew was that she absolutely, positively could _not _fail again. Her life depended on it. And if she succeeded, he would _know_ – know that she was just as powerful as her mother, and truly more worthy of his affections than Ara. She was the strongest, the smartest, both shrewd and confident.

And soon, everybody would see it.

* * *

"So who else knows?"

I don't bother looking up from the Ancient Runes translation I'm working on. "Who else knows what?" I ask vaguely, the words barely registering as I tap my chin with my quill, eyes narrowed at the parchment in front of me. _Laguz_ or _ingwaz_, I can't for the life of me decide which it is –

"Who else knows about...you know... the Dark – "

"Cassie!" I hiss, cutting her off before she has time to finish her sentence. I glance around the common room; thankfully, nobody seems to be paying us any attention. "How dense are you? Let's just go announcing this to the entire castle at breakfast tomorrow, shall we? They'll think we're as crazy as Potter."

Cassie slumps back in her seat. "Sorry," she mutters, picking at a loose thread hanging from her sleeve. "I was just curious."

I sigh heavily, letting my gaze travel once more around the common room to make sure no one is eavesdropping on us. Most of the fifth years are absorbed in some sort of homework. A group of first years chatters away animatedly by the fire, occasionally reprimanded by prefect Eleanor, who is quizzing Lyra and Ariane on the ingredients required to concoct Amortentia. The sight of my sister instantly dampens my mood, and I turn back to Cassie, thoroughly ill-tempered. "It's been nearly three weeks," I grumble, finally scribbling _ingwaz_ down as the translation. "You'd think she'd at least acknowledge my existence by now."

Cassie shrugs. "At least Madeleine is speaking to you," she says helpfully, trying to lift my spirits. Her words do nothing to appease me, however; Madeleine _may_ be speaking to me, but it's merely for mundane things, such as to pass the salt shaker or to compare notes on our Transfiguration essays. Silently stewing, I move on to the next translation on my parchment, inwardly cursing when I find it more difficult than the last.

Cass watches me closely. "So? Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

She rolls her eyes. "You know...what we were just talking about?"

It takes me a moment to remember, thoughts of Lyra and Madeleine had driven everything else from my mind. "Oh...right," I say finally, realizing she's talking about who else is aware of the Dark Lord's return. "Well...not many, as far as I know. My family, of course, and now you and Madeleine. Potter, Dumbledore, and their friends as well, I'm sure." I pause, unsure if I should go on. It couldn't hurt. "A few others inside Hogwarts, too, but that's as far as I know."

Cassie looks thoughtful. "That's not a lot. Wouldn't he want people to know he's returned?"

I shrug, wishing the tide of the conversation would change. "He has his reasons, I suppose," I reply dully. "Nobody believes Potter's version of events, anyhow, so he can bide his time."

Cassie's expression softens. "I can't imagine how difficult of a position you must be in," she says quietly.

I press down too hard on my parchment, blotting the ink. "I'd rather not discuss it," I say through gritted teeth, taking my wand out to fix my mistake.

Cassie, however, seems intent on pursuing the issue. "Madeleine may be pissed at you, but I understand why you didn't tell us," she continues, flipping a page in her Potions book. "She's got her own reasons for being upset. Perhaps you should try talking to her about it."

I sigh again, this time in annoyance. "Did she put you up to this?"

Cass shakes her head. "No," she answers, brushing a few deep red tendrils away from her face. "I'm just sick of being in the middle of the pair of you. It gets old, you know. I don't particularly enjoy playing messenger for each of you."

"If Madeleine would quit thinking I'm some sort of horrible person it would probably be more possible to hold a civilized conversation with her," I reply coolly. "As it is, she despises the ground I walk on, and I'm sure everyone else will react in entirely the same manner once they find out. What am I supposed to do, attempt to convince them all that I'm not some bloodthirsty Death Eater like my mother?"

"Not _everyone_ would believe that you're dark," Cassie says patiently. "You'd be surprised at the rather small percentage of students, even Slytherins, that would honestly say you're a ruthless monster." She jots down a note in her book. "They're not all so narrow-minded as to believe _his_ return is a good thing. It's all for show."

"How can you be so sure?"

Cassie shrugs. "I know things," she says mysteriously, as if this is a satisfactory enough answer. It isn't, of course, but I'm not in the mood to push it any further. "I'm going to bed," I announce, slamming my Ancient Runes book shut and stuffing it in my bag. It's only half past nine, but I'm exhausted and can already feel the dull pain of a migraine pounding against my eyelids. "I'll see you in the morning."

Cass sighs and tucks her legs against the side of her chair. "I'll be up until at least midnight working on this," she grumbles, flipping another page in her Potions book. "I'm terrible at Potions, this is getting absolutely nowhere." She rubs her forehead tiredly, and it's obvious I'm not the only one with a headache. "Good night, Ara."

* * *

Lunch on Tuesday is a rather subdued affair. "I'm so tired," groans Pansy, resting her elbows on the table and rubbing her eyes blearily. It's a mark of how incredibly taxing classes have been; she hasn't even argued with Cassie in days – we're all run down, exhausted, completely worn out, and it's only the end of October.

"Me too," Daphne agrees lifelessly, stabbing at her potato with no real conviction.

Madeleine releases a sigh and pushes her bangs back from her forehead. With homework on top of nightly Quidditch practices, she obviously has it the worst of us. "I'm never going to finish this," she mutters sullenly, staring unseeingly at the Rune translation I'd been working on the night before. She looks up at me, the dark circles under her eyes painfully visible. "Can I copy yours?"

I bite my lip, unsure of what to do – I don't want to say no and have Mad despise me further. Normally, we would have worked on it together, but now... hesitantly, I reach into my bag and withdraw my completed translations, sliding the sheet across the table towards her. "I'm not sure if they're right," I warn her.

Mad shrugs. "Better than handing in nothing," she says shortly, pulling out her quill.

"Cheating's immoral, Abgrall, hasn't anyone ever told you?"

Pansy squeals excitedly, suddenly alert, and scoots over to make room for my cousin. "Hey, Drakey," she croons, slipping her hand in his as he takes the vacated space between her and I. It takes all I have not to regurgitate my lunch.

Madeleine gives Draco a nasty look but wisely chooses not to respond. Chuckling to himself, Draco turns to me and raises his eyebrows. "I've got a surprise for you," he says conversationally, taking a roll from my plate and ripping it half. He shoves a piece into his mouth, chewing grotesquely.

I stare at him, disgusted. "You've finally acquired some manners?"

Pansy glares at me but Draco merely chuckles once more. "I've created a new... 'cheer,' of sorts, for the Quidditch game this weekend," he replies, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few pieces of parchment. He hands one to me. "Here."

I take it and glance over the first few lines:

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing,_

_Weasley is our King._

_Weasley was born in a bin,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our King._

"Oh, Drakey, you're so clever!" Pansy shrieks, clutching the copy he's given to her. "Weasley is so pathetic... this will definitely shake him up!"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, _so_ clever, Draco," I agree sarcastically, handing the parchment back to him. He's constantly attempting to decompose the Gryffindor team through immature taunts and jeers, but his methods have yet to win our House the Quidditch Cup. "You're just so full of intelligence and wit."

Draco grins smugly. "Not my fault Weasley's a pitiful loser," he says airily. "He must get it from his father... anyway, learn those lyrics. You too," he shoots across the table at Madeleine and Cassie, both of who are engrossed in homework and decline to give him the time of day. "We're going to be singing them at the match this weekend. Blaise and I are making badges, too." He smirks. "We'll see just how wonderfully Gryffindor's new Keeper performs under pressure."

Every time I think there's no possible way for Draco to reach a new low, he always proves me wrong.

The bell rings to signal the end of lunch, and Draco walks with my friends and I across the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures. We're joined on the way by Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise, and the boys continue discussion on their plans to sabotage Ron Weasley in the upcoming Quidditch match. Despicable as their notions are, it's no secret that the competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor is extremely fierce, and either side would do almost anything to defeat the other. I enjoy Quidditch, certainly, but, like anything else, Draco uses it merely as a means to ridicule Harry Potter and to portray himself as a step above everybody else.

"ARGHHH!"

Madeleine's shriek interrupts my thoughts. She's kneeling on the ground, hands over her face, screeching in pain. Cassie immediately tosses her bag and drops to her side, trying to coax Madeleine's hands down. "What the hell?" screams Draco furiously, drawing his wand; Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle do the same – but the grounds are filled with students, many of them stopping to stare at us; the culprit could have been anyone within thirty feet. "It had to be a bloody Gryffindor," Draco growls, pocketing his wand and dropping next to Cassie. "Go get Professor Snape," he shoots at Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise. They hasten to obey, and Draco turns back towards Mad, his expression angry. "All right, Abgrall, let's see, then."

Madeleine sobs loudly. Cassie finally succeeds in drawing her hands away, and a jolt of shock runs through me at the state of Madeleine's face: her cheeks are bright red and painfully swollen, her eyes tightly squeezed shut. "Stinging Hex," Cassie mutters, gripping Madeleine's hand comfortingly. "Come on, Maddie, we've got to get you to the hospital wing."

Madeleine can't even speak; she allows Cassie to help her to her feet and steer her in the direction of the castle. I hesitate, unsure of whether or not I should go with them, but Draco stops me. "She'll meet you at the hospital wing later," he says curtly to my friends. Cassie gives him a perplexed look but doesn't question my cousin. "Come on, Mad," she repeats, leading Madeleine back the way we'd came.

I glare at Draco. "I can speak for myself, thank you," I tell him haughtily. "And I don't know what you're up to, but I'm following them up to the hospital wing – "

"We're going to find Potter," Draco spits, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the Forbidden Forest, where Potter and the rest of our class are most likely lined up, waiting for the lesson to start.

I yank my arm out of my cousin's grasp and stare at him suspiciously. "Draco, Harry Potter was nowhere near us," I say harshly. "I don't care if you despise every bone in his body, you can't possibly blame this on him."

"He's trying to attack our Quidditch team!" Draco yells back, unconvinced, gripping my arm more tightly this time and once again dragging me in the direction of the Forest. "Bloody hell, Ara, I don't care who it was, their entire team is going to pay – "

"Perhaps Bletchley shouldn't have attacked them first!" I retort. "He jinxed Spinnet, do you really think they're just going to take that lying down? They're Gryffindors, Draco, not a bunch of first year Hufflepuffs you can scare into submission. Let it go and let Snape handle it."

Draco stops suddenly and spins on his heel, his eyes blazing. "Don't you remember fighting Pucey after he called Abgrall a tramp?" he hisses. "You'll duel with someone from your own House, but you refuse to believe that precious Potter or one of his _noble_ Gryffindors would ever pull a wand on us?"

Anger courses through me; he's being thoroughly ridiculous, and Madeleine is still much more important to me than accusing innocent Gryffindors. "The difference, you git, is that I actually _knew_ Pucey was at fault," I tell him contemptuously, turning my back on him. "Do what you'd like, but _I'm_ going up to the hospital wing. Don't come crying to me when you're in detention for instigating a duel with Potter again."

He doesn't follow me. It's the first time in living memory I haven't been able to talk him out of doing something incredibly foolish.

* * *

Madeleine glides across the pitch, quick and effortless, her emerald Quidditch robes shimmering in the sunlight, the Quaffle tucked underneath her arm. She dodges a Bludger and finds herself face to face with Angelina Johnson. Smirking confidently, she reverse passes to Montague, who sweeps past her and grabs the Quaffle before Angelina even has time to react. Madeleine flips her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder, a nasty smile playing on her lips before she turns on Angelina and rejoins the action of the game. Angelina scowls, obviously frustrated, then urges her broom forward in pursuit of my friend. "You'd never guess that a few days ago she had a tomato for a face," Cassie jokes, adjusting the "Weasley Is Our King" badge pinned to her robes.

I mindlessly finger my own badge, forcibly attached to my robes earlier that morning by Blaise. "I just want to know who did it."

Cassie shrugs. The topic has been covered at least a dozen times in the past few days, but we're no closer to reaching any conclusions than we were on the day Madeleine was hexed. "But at least she's speaking to you civilly again."

I roll my eyes as Warrington belts the Quaffle towards Gryffindor's middle hoop. Ron Weasley dives spectacularly but misses, drawing a wave of cheers from the Slytherins and yet another chorus of "Weasley Is Our King." "She was speaking to me civilly before, Cass, it doesn't mean anything. She still hates my guts."

The attack on Madeleine had done little to ease the strain in our relationship. Madam Pomfrey had been able to heal some of the swelling on her face straight away, but Mad had been required to stay in the hospital wing through Thursday, more out of the fussy nature of Madam Pomfrey than anything else. Cassie and I had visited her each day and brought her homework to her, but conversation had been forced and awkward, and I knew she was still resentful that I'd kept the Dark Lord's return from her. "You two can't go on like this," Cassie replies, applauding as Madeleine scores another goal. "Yeah, go Maddie! That's my girl!"

She becomes distracted by the match, thankfully allowing the topic of Madeleine to slide. I shiver and pull my cloak more tightly around my body, taking in the detail on the pitch. Draco hovers above the action, his sharp grey eyes searching restlessly for the Snitch. Harry Potter does the same near the Gryffindor goal posts, his gaze averting every so often towards my cousin, merely to ensure that his search is fruitless as well. " – and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Abgrall!" shouts Lee Jordan into his magical megaphone, commenting on the action of the game. "She ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina – GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Abgrall has the Quaffle..."

Suddenly, Harry streaks towards the ground; Draco immediately spots him and races to catch up. I can just barely make out the small golden Snitch skipping playfully around the feet of the goal hoops on Slytherin's end of the stadium. "Come on, Drakey!" I hear Pansy call from a few rows below me, her position as the conductor of "Weasley Is Our King" abandoned in the excitement of the moment.

Harry and Draco are neck and neck, now careening towards the opposite end of the stadium. I hold my breath and grasp Cassie's hand, my stomach in knots as I inwardly pray for my cousin to come out victorious. Before I even have time to think, however, it's over, and Harry is sweeping around the pitch, grinning, the tiny golden ball clutched in his hand as the Gryffindor fans go wild. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Crabbe raising his bat, an ugly grimace on his face, and I know exactly what's going to happen a moment before it does.

_WHACK_.

The Bludger hits Harry squarely in the back, knocking him off of his broom and onto the hard ground. Instantly, Madam Hooch zooms over to Crabbe, berating him angrily as the crowd expresses its outrage. I spot Draco taking advantage of the referee's momentary distraction, striding purposefully over to Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team, and smell trouble immediately. "Come on," I mutter, snatching Cassie's arm and dragging her through the stands with me towards the pitch.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Draco is saying as Cassie and I approach the two teams, his tone malicious. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to write about his mother, see –"

"Oh, Merlin," I groan.

"– we couldn't fit in useless loser either – for his father, you know – "

The Weasley twins, in the middle of shaking hands with Harry, instantly stiffen and glance around at my cousin. Angelina Johnson grabs one of them by the arm and begins hissing admonitions to walk away, sensing the danger in the situation.

"– but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" Draco goes on violently, intent on impressing his anger onto Harry. I know exactly what he's doing, but goading Harry as revenge for the attack on Madeleine can only spell disaster. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you're been dragged up by Muggles even Weasley's hovel smells okay –"

"Draco!" I hiss as all three of the Gryffindor Chasers latch onto one of the Weasleys, effectively restraining him; Harry grabs hold of the second twin, whose face is red with anger. I step away from Cassie and take my cousin's arm. "Stop it!"

"Or perhaps," Draco continues, shaking me off, his eyes gleaming, "You can remember what _your_ mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it –"

The fight that breaks out is a hundred times worse than the duel I'd experienced with Pucey. Draco just manages to push me out of the way as Harry and one of the Weasleys launch themselves at him, punching every part of him they can reach. "HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" screams Katie Bell, struggling with her hold on the other twin, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. "STOP IT!" I repeat, plunging my hand into robes in search of my wand, but Madam Hooch beats me to it. "_IMPEDIMENTA_!" she screams, the force of her spell enough to drive Harry and George away from Draco. I rush over to him, Cassie on my heels. He's doubled over, clutching his stomach and whimpering, a river of blood flowing from his nose. "Draco, you idiot," I moan helplessly, examining a cut above his left eye. Somewhere in the background, Madam Hooch is bellowing at Harry and George, ordering them to McGonagall's office.

Snape appears, seemingly from thin air, at my side, helping Draco to his feet. "Get to the common room, Miss Lestrange," he snaps, not looking at me.

"But sir –"

"Now!" Snape repeats dangerously, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. At once, Cassie and I turn and head back towards the castle, melting into the crowd that has already begun to make its way across the grounds. "He's so stupid!" I burst out as we enter the castle, trailing the rest of the Slytherins down into the dungeons. "Really, Cassie, I don't understand why he's so worked up about this, he hates Madeleine as it is for the way she's been treating me –"

"Trouble in paradise, Lestrange?"

Adrian Pucey has caught up with us, smirking widely. "What are you going on about, Pucey?" Cassie asks, her distaste for him evident.

Pucey continues to smirk. "Merely commenting on the fact that Malfoy got what he deserved," he says casually. "Unfortunate that I couldn't take any credit for it, you know, but Abgrall..." he trails off, grinning smugly.

I stop suddenly, rooted to the spot. "You... _you_ attacked Madeleine?" I say, my voice shaking slightly.

Pucey laughs, leaning in close to me. "I warned you, Ara," he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my cheek. It's all I have not to slap him in the face. "I told you she'd pay..."

"Get away from her!" Cassie orders sharply. I attempt to push him away, but he grabs my arm, preventing me from doing so. "Let me go," I whisper threateningly, staring him directly in the eyes. "You don't scare me, Pucey. In fact, you're extraordinarily pathetic, attacking Madeleine because you can't handle losing your position to a girl –"

Pucey's grip tightens and I wince slightly from the pain. "Not so strong when dear Draco's not here to protect you, are you?" he says malevolently, finally releasing my arm and turning away. "Watch your back, Lestrange," he warns skulking towards the common room, robes swishing menacingly about his ankles, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

* * *

It was well past midnight, but Lyra lie awake in her four-poster bed, reciting the history of the 1890 Warlocks' Convention over in her mind. It was unnecessary, of course; they never had exams in History of Magic, save for at the end of the year, but she desperately needed something to occupy her mind. "Dugan Dragmoore headed the convention," she mumbled sleepily to herself, aimlessly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "And the main issue revolved around the rights of magical creatures..."

"Shut up, Lyra," Eleanor muttered tiredly from the bed to Lyra's right, halfheartedly tossing a pillow at the middle Lestrange sister. Lyra caught the pillow clumsily before it hit her in the face and tossed it back onto the foot of Eleanor's bed. Apparently unaware that she'd even spoken, Eleanor rolled over onto her stomach, a light snore escaping her lips.

Lyra suppressed a chuckle but gave up on listing facts about the convention, opting instead to get out of bed and pour herself a glass of water from the jug beside the window. The sky outside was a beautiful navy blue, dotted with an endless amount of stars. Lyra squinted, trying to trace the constellation Orion as she sipped the cool liquid. They'd been studying the more complex constellations in Astronomy, but it was always nice to know the simple ones were there when she just needed a star to wish upon.

They were all named after constellations – she, Carina, and Ara. It was a sort of tradition in her family. Then again, so was laying down your life for the Dark Lord. It hurt Lyra to the core to disagree with her family – hurt more deeply than any of her relatives could imagine. She just wanted all of this to go away. Carina was turning into a monster, and Ara was headed down the same path. It was Lyra's job to protect her younger sister, to keep any harm from coming to her.

And what a terrible job she was making of it. She and Ara weren't even speaking to each other, all over a stupid defense group. However strongly she disagreed with it, Lyra could respect her sister's point of view, but it wasn't one that made much sense to her. Above all, she wanted her family to stay together. To have the old Carina back, the one who wasn't obsessed with power. To keep Ara innocent, as far away from the darkness of the world as possible. She wished for the mother she'd never known, the father who'd never wiped away her tears, the two pieces that were missing from the puzzle of her life.

It took a moment before Lyra realized she wasn't tracing Orion anymore. Her eyes had randomly begun to chart a new shape, something that she'd never studied in Astronomy, something she hadn't even realized she was seeing. She lowered her glass and pressed her nose against the window, screwing her eyes up to try and discern the odd structure the stars were forming.

It was a bird, its wings spread wide, beak parted in the act of screeching. A trail of stars stretched out behind it, giving the appearance of flames, as well as in front of it, symbolizing its cleansing tears. A phoenix. Astonished, Lyra could only stare, enraptured with the apparition until her eyes blurred. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but when she looked back up the image had vanished, leaving behind only a grainy trailing of stardust and the question of whether or not she'd actually seen it.

It was high time she had a talk with Dumbledore.


	12. You Can Run But You Can't Hide

**A/N:** No, I haven't died, lol. I'm truly sorry it's taken me so long to update. Thank you for sticking with me, and please, take a moment to review! I'd appreciate it.

Some dialogue is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

**Chapter 11 – You Can Run But You Can't Hide**

It's nearly midnight on Monday and I'm sitting in the dungeons, cloak wrapped tightly around me as I tip a few more lacewing flies into my Befuddlement Draught. It's freezing; I can see my breath, and the small fire kindled underneath my cauldron does nothing to alleviate the cold. Teeth chattering, I rub my hands together quickly, wishing I'd thought to bring my gloves with me. I glance longingly at the grate in the corner –inwardly cursing Snape for refusing to keep it lit during class – and briefly consider conjuring a larger fire. Chilly as the dungeons are, I decide against it once I realize that it will more than likely attract the attention of either Snape or Filch, neither of whom I want on my case tonight.

I've been told countless times that I'm out of my mind for actually liking Potions, but it's the one subject in which I have 100% confidence, the one class that manages to soothe my nerves and afford me some sort of escape from the outside world. Not many students know that Snape allows the Potions classroom to be used after hours – either because they're too afraid to remain in his presence for longer than necessary, or because they could care less about concocting Potions outside of regular class time. Normally, Snape grants his permission to use the classroom only to his seventh year Slytherin N.E.W.T. students who are, more often than not, suffering mental breakdowns over the types of Potions that will be presented to them on their tests; they come in every so often to practice. I, however, have been coming down here since my first year, using the lateness of the hour and the unlimited amount of ingredients in the store cupboard to my advantage. I've never been caught, and I only sneak in when I'm too overwhelmed with various problems and need something to distract my mind.

Tonight is my first time down here this year. I momentarily forget the cold as I notice my potion turning a lighter grey, as opposed to the dark shade described in the book. Puzzled, I scan the instructions. I'd managed to make it nearly perfectly in class today –

"I doubt I've ever seen as diligent a Potions student as you, Miss Lestrange."

I practically jump out of my skin, upsetting the table and causing my flagon to fall onto the ground. It shatters to pieces, echoing loudly throughout the empty dungeon. "I – I'm sorry," I mumble, drawing my wand to repair the mess. "You – you scared me, sir – "

Snape stands in the doorway, clad in his usual black, arms crossed menacingly over his chest. He appears wide awake, even though the majority of the castle's residents have long since fallen victim to sleep. "Evidently," he sneers, watching as I mend the flagon and quickly attempt to start clearing out my tableful of ingredients. "Leave it," he orders, nodding at the mess. I don't argue, just stop what I'm doing, my heart pounding as I wait for him to make the next move.

Snape makes his way over to the table, peering into my cauldron and examining my potion. "Your work was fine in class today," he says, staring at me inquiringly. "Would you care to explain why you're in the dungeons at midnight, re-creating the same potion?"

I bite my lip and shrug. I'm not sure of how much trouble I'm in, and I don't want to give him an unacceptable answer. "I wanted to practice," I say halfheartedly, the best reason I can come up with on the spot.

Snape eyes me skeptically. "You wanted to practice," he repeats, sounding entirely unconvinced. "Again, Miss Lestrange, I must point out that it is now past midnight, and, subsequently, long after curfew."

I remain silent, unsure of what to say and not wanting to dig myself into a deeper hole.

Snape takes my flagon and fills it to the brim with my potion. "What have you been doing with everything else you've brewed? Surely not, I hope, merely throwing it away?"

My jaw drops open in shock. "Sir? I don't know – "

"Miss Lestrange, I'm fully aware that you have been sneaking down here for five years now," Snape interrupts me, Vanishing the rest of my potion with a wave of his wand. "Had you been any other student, I would have put a stop to it in your first year; however, as Lucius' niece – and the fact that you apparently possess a talent for potion-making – I admit I was curious to see what would possess you to continue coming down here and brewing Potions at ridiculous hours of the night."

I'm startled that he's known for so long, yet somehow, at the same time, I'm not surprised; I can't see how I'd ever thought that Snape, one of the most cunning and shrewd Death Eaters to ever exist, wouldn't have figured out that a student was sneaking in to his dungeons from the start. "I'm sorry, Professor," I apologize again, standing up to leave. "I won't come down here after hours anymore, I promise – "

"Sit down," Snape cuts in sharply, nodding at the seat I'd just vacated. "We're not finished yet."

Gulping, I take my seat once more, inwardly debating how many evenings of detention I'm going to receive.

Snape stares at me a moment before speaking. "Potions are a very complex and intriguing branch of magic, Miss Lestrange," he says finally, tracing his chin slowly. "Anyone can follow instructions from a book to produce a mixture, but it takes true skill and dedication to craft a potion to perfection. As such, the mind becomes heavily involved – so much so that oftentimes, a potioneer forgets about any external forces." He gives me a piercing glance. "And I believe that it would be safe for me to state that you have quite a few external forces you'd like to avoid encountering at the moment."

Of course Snape would be extremely able to deduce my true reasons for visiting the Potions classroom so often; as a Potions Master, he has to be completely in-tune with the kinds of feelings that working on a potion will produce. I shrug again and continue to chew on my lip. "It's just been a stressful few months," I mutter, refusing to go into it further. "The O.W.L.s are really getting to everyone."

Snape crosses his arms once more. "And are you attempting to pass off your desire to concoct potions in the middle of the night on purely the fact that you have a set of examinations next June?"

I stare at him. "Yes?"

Snape turns his back on me and walks to the front of the room, pulling out the chair behind his desk and taking a seat. He rests his fingertips together, looking pensive. "You're a terrible liar, Miss Lestrange," he finally states bluntly. "You always have been, since the time you were five and denied mixing that Hair Lengthening Potion in with your sister's breakfast."

I grin in spite of myself. Snape had stopped to visit the manor on his way to a fashionable, high-class hair salon in Diagon Alley, for which he'd been paid to replenish a variety of hair potions. He had been carrying several Hair Lengthening Potions in his bag. I had managed to steal one when he wasn't looking and replaced it for the milk in Carina's cereal, its pearly white appearance making it the perfect fake. Being unable to read, I hadn't actually known what it was, so it's a miracle I didn't kill her. Her hair had grown the length of the dining room and was creeping into the kitchen before any of the adults finally realized what was going on. "I still deny it. That was Draco, not me."

Snape rolls his eyes. "I'm certain," he replies dryly. "Quit turning this into a joke, Miss Lestrange." His tone softens. "The Dark Lord has had no contact with you for nearly two months now. He often inquires as to the state of your being."

A shiver that has nothing to do with the freezing temperature of the dungeons works its way down my spine.

"He also wishes to be kept up to date on your grades," Snape goes on. "He has made it clear to both your uncle and I that he will not tolerate anything below an Outstanding."

I nearly jump up from my seat again. "What?" I practically screech. "Nothing below an _Outstanding?_ Sir, that's the top grade, there's no way I can achieve that in _all_ of my classes – "

"I am aware of the gravity of the situation, Miss Lestrange," Snape snaps. "I have been looking at your marks from the current term, and it is evident that you have been performing sufficiently well in every subject. It would suggest that perhaps merely a little more effort be put forth, in order to achieve the desired standard of the Dark Lord." He pauses, gauging my expression. "I have just come from speaking with him. He finds your work in Potions to be of particular interest."

I realize that this "summons" from the Dark Lord is why Snape is still up at such a late hour. "Did he say anything else about me, sir?" I ask, trying to sound supremely unconcerned.

Snape eyes me. "No. He simply wished for a report on your progress. Your grade in Potions is higher than that of any other subject and undoubtedly caught his eye."

I nod slowly, relieved that the Dark Lord hadn't thought it necessary to question Snape on much else about me. I'd rather he wouldn't spare a thought for me at all, of course, but if he must, I'm glad it's on something as trivial as my grades.

"Your marks are _not_ something to be taken lightly," Snape says, as if he's read my mind. "You're an intelligent student, Miss Lestrange, but that does _not_ mean you can sit back and accept passable grades that do not meet expectations." He leans forward. "You recall, of course, exactly what it is that the Dark Lord wishes to do with you. When the time comes for him to teach you, he will not find what he deems as 'laziness' to be attractive."

"I'm not lazy!" I interject, so furious he would even suggest it that the mention of the Dark Lord teaching me flies right over my head.

Snape's black eyes glitter strangely. "No," he agrees, inclining his head. "Rash and lacking in proper etiquette when speaking to a teacher, perhaps, but arguably brighter than the load of dunderheads I'm forced to teach every year. I'm simply advising you to make your marks an even higher priority now than they were before." He glances at his watch. "It is late…you should be in bed. This is not a conversation I would have preferred to have with you at such an hour."

I immediately stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. "Good night, sir," I say quietly, nearly sprinting to the door, thankful I've managed to avoid the huge punishment any other student wandering about the dungeons this late at night would have received. I'm intent on getting back to the common room as soon as possible, rather than remain in Snape's company and discuss all the fascinating aspects of my character that can be relayed to the Dark Lord.

"Miss Lestrange."

I groan inwardly but stop at the door and turn around once more. "Yes, sir?"

Snape is eyeing me warily. "I am not at all satisfied with the way this discussion went," he replies acidly. "You have been uncharacteristically quiet. If I remember correctly, you displayed a much more significant amount of fear and irritating curiosity the last time we held a conversation on the Dark Lord."

"Well, Professor," I reply even, trying to bite back the impatience in my voice, "The last time we held a conversation on the Dark Lord, you were taking me off the school grounds and refusing to inform me of exactly where we were going, and _he_ was relating to me his wonderful plan to make me a replica of my mother. I've had time to deal with it; therefore, I have nothing more to say on the matter."

Snape's eyes flash. "I will _not_ tolerate being spoken to in such a tone," he says dangerously. His voice softens as he goes on: "I should prefer you to come to me if you are having difficulties coping with the amount of pressure you are under. The Dark Lord, as you very well know, can inflict a large amount of stress on any individual. I can assist you with any concerns you may be experiencing." He pauses, his expression now calculating. "I do not wish to catch you down here again so late at night."

His tone holds a hint of warning, and now I know for certain that he knows _exactly_ why I've chosen to bury myself in potion-making at an absurd hour of the evening. "Yes, sir," I reply briefly, wanting nothing more than to climb in my four-poster in the dungeons. My head is starting to ache, and I just want to be left alone.

Snape nods. "It is not wise, Miss Lestrange, to run from things." He rises, suddenly appearing tired and weary. "Now, I'd suggest that you get to bed before I change my mind about giving you detention."

* * *

The rest of October passes in a blur and November arrives much too quickly for my liking, bringing with it freezing winds and icy drafts. The temperature in the castle falls to an alarming degree, and the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall turns a murky grey, inspiring students to pull on their dragon skin gloves when traveling the chilly corridors. None of our House looks forward to the first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with Hagrid on Tuesday afternoon. "Why couldn't he just have stayed away?" Cass grumbles as we trudge towards his cabin, cloaks wrapped tightly around us. "Doubt Grubbly-Plank would've made us come out here in this hell."

I briefly recall the scene in the Great Hall Monday morning, where Hagrid's reappearance had caused a stir. Several of the Gryffindor students had run up to welcome him back, but the majority of the other Houses weren't exactly happy to see him return. I could sympathize with them. I've never been particularly against Hagrid, but the startling amount of injuries that come out of his lessons has never made me fond of his class, either. "Suppose he had to come back some time," I say vaguely, my mind not completely on the same plane of existence as my friends.

Madeleine says nothing. She's on Cassie's other side, head bowed against the cold, eyes trained on her feet. "I wonder if the Umbitch will be there? Probably," Cassie goes on, answering her own question and apparently not noticing Madeleine's moodiness. "He's a new teacher to her. She'll swoop down on him as soon as humanly possible."

"_Humanly_ is the wrong word to use in this situation, Moneroy," Pansy sneers from beside us. "That oaf's _anything_ but human. Umbridge hates half-breeds, didn't you know that? She'll have him sacked before the lesson's even half over." She chortles. "Good thing, too. The school's filthy enough with all these nasty _Mudbloods_ walking around." She pronounces the word as if it's a forbidden oath, glancing back at Hermione Granger, who is walking across the grounds with Harry and Ron, to prove her point.

"Put a sock in it, Parkinson," Cassie snaps back, though I know it's more out of her intense dislike for Pansy than taking offense at the use of the word "Mudblood." "Nobody asked for your opinion."

"Aww, do you actually _like_ that bumbling oaf, Moneroy?" Pansy taunts, smirking at the look of disgust that immediately crosses Cassie's face. "That's sweet of you, though I can't say much for your taste – "

"Look at his face," Daphne interrupts suddenly, pointing, as we arrive at Hagrid's cabin, finally close enough to get a good view of him. The portion of his face not covered by his enormous beard is splattered with bruises, some a dark purple, others tinged a painful-looking greenish yellow. He's also sporting several cuts; a couple of them appear to be bleeding. "He looks a mess!"

"Was he attacked?" wonders Cass, her eyes wide. "Maybe by one of the creatures he's going to show us today?"

Pansy snorts, looking more pug-like than usual. "I wouldn't be surprised."

Hagrid grins at the approaching students, but his smile does nothing to better his appearance. "We're workin' in here today!" he announces, nodding at the Forbidden Forest. I notice he's carrying a dead slab of some sort of animal over his shoulder and immediately dread whatever it is he has planned for us. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark…"

"What prefers the dark?" Draco whispers to my right, the panic evident in his voice. "What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?"

I could care less right now about my cousin's cowardice. I fall in line with the rest of the class as they trail Hagrid into the forest, paying only slight attention as Draco makes endless comments about the many dangerous creatures Hagrid's brought to class. Cassie struts along confidently, refusing to let such trite matters as creature-induced injuries bother her, while Madeleine lags behind, her expression blank. She's been terribly moody lately, certainly, but today seems more so than usual, and even though she's still angry with me I can't help but wonder what's wrong. "Are you all right?" I ask her quietly, falling in step beside her.

Mad doesn't even look my way. "I'm fine," she says stiffly, her blue eyes like two chips of ice. "Just tired."

"Have you talked to Snape about Pucey yet?"

Madeleine rolls her eyes. Cass and I had told her of Pucey's confession, but she didn't seem nearly as upset about it as I'd thought she would be. "Pucey's a pig," she replies dismissively. "I'm not going to go running to a teacher just because he can't handle losing to a girl. I'll deal with it on my own, somehow. What's the worst he can do, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," I respond sarcastically as we enter a small clearing, the trees packed so tightly together that there's no light at all. "Hex you to within an inch of your life next time?"

Madeleine laughs bitterly. "He'll get what's coming to him," she says, turning away from me and towards Hagrid, who has tossed the dead animal onto the ground and begun to speak to the class: "Gather roun', gather roun'…Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me…"

He throws his head back and emits a loud, shrieking cry that echoes throughout the forest. We wait with trepidation, the expressions on many of my classmates' faces resembling a mixture of confusion and fear. Hagrid gives the call again, and again, but nothing appears. "Well, this is certainly riveting," Blaise Zabini remarks dryly, leaning against a tree with an air of supreme boredom.

"Look!" Madeleine whispers in awe, pointing between two trees straight ahead.

I screw up my eyes but can't see anything. "What're you going on about, Maddie?" Cassie asks, obviously as confused as I am. "There's nothing there."

"Yeah, are you losing it, Abgrall?" Pansy adds, staring blankly at the same spot on which Madeleine's eyes are fixed. "Because I hear they have an entire wing devoted to magically muddled brains at St. Mungo's – "

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid exclaims loudly. "Now, put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

Madeleine raises her hand, as do Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. I hear a gasp from somewhere and spot Parvati Patil nudging Lavender Brown, an expression of shock on her face. I follow her gaze and nearly gasp myself: bits of flesh are stripping themselves away from the animal carcass, becoming smaller and smaller until they disappear into thin air. "What's doing it?" Parvati asks in a shaky voice, gripping Lavender's arm tightly. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals," responds Hagrid promptly. "Hogwarts has got a whole load of 'em in here. Now, who knows – ?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" Parvati interrupts, still shaken. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them! Professor Trelawney told me once – "

"Gryffindors are so dense," Cass spits in annoyance, casting Parvati an irritated look as Hagrid babbles on about the many beneficial uses of thestrals. "Anyone who believes _anything_ that old fraud says is a few Sickles short of a Galleon."

Hagrid goes on to explain that the only people who can see thestrals are those who have seen death. Madeleine nods at this revelation, seeming to be in her own world, eyes wide with visions the rest of us can't see. Cassie sends me a perplexed look over the top of Madeleine's head, and I can tell that we are both thinking the same thing: _who has Madeleine seen die?_ Her grandmother had passed away during February of our third year, but Mad had been with us then; her parents had come to pick her up at Hogwarts for the funeral. She's never mentioned losing anyone else. Cass and I silently debate with our eyes whether or not to ask her, but neither of us ever gets the chance: "_Hem, hem_."

Hagrid gazes around for the source of the noise. I restrain myself from rolling my eyes at Umbridge's fake cough with great difficulty. "Oh hello!" Hagrid says cheerfully, finally locating her within the sea of students.

Umbridge doesn't return his greeting. "You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" she asks coldly, tapping her quill against her clipboard. She's speaking rather slowly and loudly, as if Hagrid is a five year old child who has trouble understanding basic English. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh, yeah, glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see – or I dunno, can you? – we're doin' thestrals today –"

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Umbridge inquires, though I can tell she's heard him perfectly fine. A little ways down the clearing I see Draco nudge Crabbe and double over in silent laughter.

Hagrid frowns. "Er – thestrals! Big – er – winged horses, yeh know?" He waves his arms, simulating wings. Umbridge stares at him for a moment, then drops her eyes to her clipboard. "_Has…to….resort…to…crude…sign…language…_" she says in a carrying mutter as she writes, causing the Slytherins to stifle giggles.

The entire lesson continues much in the same vein. Umbridge weaves in and out of the students, questioning some while intermittently making pointed remarks about Hagrid's apparent incompetence. By the time class is over, Hagrid has completely lost his composure, and many of the Gryffindors are giving Umbridge looks of deepest loathing. "That," says Cassie as we head back up to the Great Hall for a late lunch, "Was possibly the best Care of Magical Creatures lesson I've ever had in my life. I can't believe I'm saying this, but points to the Umbitch!"

I've known Cassie since we were eleven, and while she's normally a fair, kind-hearted person, she harbors some of the less admirable qualities for which Salazar Slytherin was famous. Her _real_ problem with Hagrid is genuinely not that he's half-giant; rather, she's had a sort of grudge against him since our second year – we hadn't had him for class, but a kappa he'd been keeping in the lake nearly drowned her. "Hagrid's probably going to get sacked," I point out as we enter the castle, dripping melted snow from our cloaks and scarves.

Cassie shrugs. "Who cares?" she asks indifferently. "Like I said, he should have just stayed away."

"That wasn't too bad of a lesson, though," Madeleine speaks up as we take seats at our House table. She still has that wistful look on her face, as if she's worlds away.

"Yeah, Mad, we were wondering," Cassie says, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice, "Who'd you see snuff it? Ara and I have known you forever. You've never mentioned anyone else besides your grandmother."

Madeleine doesn't answer. She's staring into her bowl of soup, swirling the contents haphazardly.

Cassie snaps her fingers in front of Madeleine's face. "Maddie! Hello?"

Madeleine doesn't even look up. "No one. Never you mind," she answers vaguely.

Cassie glances at me, completely bewildered. I shrug, because I have no more an idea of what's going on than she does.

* * *

After dealing with Madeleine's strange yet abrasive attitude throughout the day, I approach Lyra after dinner, intent on finally making up. She's sitting in the corner with Eleanor and Ariane, quizzing them on History of Magic. "Can I have a word?" I ask, glancing at her pointedly and crossing my arms.

Ariane gives me a dark look. No doubt Madeleine has told her everything that's happened. I'm only slightly bothered by it; I have bigger things on my mind at the moment. Eleanor doesn't allow her feelings towards me to be betrayed as she shrugs and stands. "Come on, Ari," she prods Ariane. "We need a break anyway. Let's walk up to the Owlery, I need to send off that order for Mum's birthday present."

Ariane complies silently. I watch them head off toward the damp stretch of wall that serves as the exit before taking Eleanor's vacated seat and staring at my sister. She's pretending to be buried in her book, determinedly avoiding my eyes. "Well?" I demand after a few moments of her indifference. "Are you done being a great big ridiculous prat towards me?"

Lyra slams her book shut. "I suppose so," she answers huffily, brushing a few tendrils of chestnut hair out of her eyes as she leans back in her armchair. I'm a little shocked that she's given in without much of a fight. "I realize that you have a point. I'm just not inclined to agree with it."

"Big surprise," I mutter sullenly.

Lyra rolls her eyes at me. "We agree more than often either Carina and you or Carina and I," she says airily, as if this is supposed to justify something. I'm still reeling over the fact that the big blow up I'd expected to occur between us hasn't yet happened. "Speaking of our lovely elder sister, have you heard from her recently?"

"No," I answer. "Aunt Cissy mentioned in her last letter that Carina had gotten a job at the Ministry and she'd have her write to me about it, but she hasn't yet." Aunt Cissy had also done a fair amount of badgering in that letter, begging me to tell her what the Dark Lord had wanted with me. It suddenly hits me that Lyra, aside from Draco, is the only one in our family who has no idea that I'd even been pulled out of school to visit with the Dark Lord. I debate whether or not to tell her, but Snape's warning to confide in no one comes back to me, and I decide she's safer not knowing. She'll find out eventually, but not tonight. Not while we're in the process of making up.

Lyra snorts. "I doubt that she will. Aunt Cissy wrote that to me as well. It's not safe to put things like that in a letter, it could be intercepted by anyone. Aunt Cissy may just be writing it in the hope that Carina may actually be getting her life together. Doubtful, of course, but if Carina had anything to say, she'd write it on her own."

I can see her point: Carina's twenty and still living at home. True, the manor caters to her every whim, but by twenty we'd all figured that she'd be doing something more with her life. It's not that she's lazy or stupid; she's quite accomplished in Transfiguration and complex charms, and I've always considered her to be the cleverest of the three of us. Since graduating from Hogwarts she's worked a job at the Bianca Page Hair Salon – an upper class salon in Diagon Alley and, incidentally, the same one for which Snape had been replenishing potions – but nothing that she could turn into an actual career. Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius haven't bothered her _too_ much about it, but Lyra, Draco, and I have long thought her lack of a "real" job has gotten rather ridiculous. I suspect that Aunt Cissy likes having her near and knowing that she's safe – it must be enough to keep her from nagging my sister about putting her talents to better use. Lyra has a theory that Carina's holding out for Elliot Ryeland because she believes that it's the duty of a pureblood witch to carry on the family line, rather than build a successful career. She's probably right. Carina's certainly vain enough, and Elliot's definitely not intelligent enough to realize that she'd subtly take charge and, in a sense, become the effectual head of the family.

I won't be surprised if that's been her plan all along.

"Aunt Cissy's trying to arrange my birthday party, too," Lyra goes on grumpily, twirling her quill between her fingertips. She's going to be eighteen in December. "I'd rather not have a huge party this year. Carina's was enough. What if _he_ gate crashes _my_ party, too?" She's lowered her voice, worry evident in her features. "What if it's expected, since I'm nearly graduated and he thinks I'm following after Carina?"

I don't know what to say. This is, after all, a valid concern, and the words the Dark Lord had spoken to Lyra back at Carina's party float to the top of my mind: _We shall see soon, then, whether you will follow in the footsteps of your parents and sister… _"I don't know, Lyra. Aunt Cissy's probably just trying to show you off. You know how she is," I respond after a moment, trying to brush it off and assuage my sister's fears. "You haven't left Hogwarts yet. While you're here, you're safe."

Lyra's eyes are narrowed. "But I won't be here for much longer," she says matter-of-factly, staring unseeingly into the fire. "I'll be out by June. And then what?"

I shrug, feeling as if my insides are being ripped apart. I want so badly to tell my sister what she wants to hear, that everything will be okay, that we're not going to be used as pawns in this deadly war. But to do so would be lying, and we both know it. "You have a choice," I whisper, scooting my chair closer and taking her hand. "You could stay, or you could run. You're the one who wants to keep our family together, Lyra. You know that we're breaking apart; it's already started. Stay with us, or run off with Potter and his friends. What's _he_ going to do when he finds out you've betrayed us?"

Tears well in my sister's eyes. "I don't believe in him as they do, Ara," she says quietly, her voice breaking. "I don't know who Carina is anymore, and I don't know how deeply Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius are invested in this. We're not truly a family anymore. Everything's changing. I want nothing more than to keep us together, but I can't be what _they_ want. I'm not our mother. I can't find the thought of torturing Muggles and hunting down blood traitors amusing." She squeezes my hand. "You're not like them, either. No matter what happens, I _know_ you're not."

I don't answer. I'm not nearly as sure as she is. I don't have her strength. Would I leave my family for the greater good, in opposition of the Dark Lord? They're all I have. Carina, Lyra, Draco, Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius. I'm too fearful to abandon them, to run away to the side of the Light, and I don't see what Lyra thinks she can gain from it. Leaving is the easiest way to ensure that I'll lose her forever, not just temporarily. She's already too far gone.

Lyra sighs and rests her head against my shoulder. "I know what I'm going to do."

"What's that?" I ask vaguely, still lost in my thoughts, aimlessly playing with a strand of her hair.

"I'm going to join the Order of the Phoenix."


	13. The Danger in Starting a Fire

**Chapter 12 – The Danger In Starting A Fire**

Lyra's words don't immediately register to me. I continue to play with her hair, allowing them to sink in, realization dawning slowly. "You…what?" I ask stupidly, feeling as if I've quite misheard her, but at the same time just _knowing_ in my gut that I haven't.

"I'm going to join the Order of the Phoenix," Lyra repeats, sitting up and pulling her hair from my fingers. I stare at her, open-mouthed, unable to form words. My sister rolls her eyes. "Ara, close your mouth. You look like a blowfish."

I obey, still completely at a loss for words. "But…you…really…couldn't you have chosen a better place to announce this than in the _Slytherin common room?_" I hiss, spitting out the first coherent sentence my brain finally consents to construct.

Lyra shrugs. "Nobody's listening," she says, and a glance around the room tells me that she's right: some second years are gathered at a table, chatting and laughing, while a group of seventh years sit in the corner, feverishly flicking through their notes and occasionally giving the second years looks of extreme annoyance. Draco, rather than waste his valuable time studying, like anybody who actually cares about the O.W.L.s, is parked in the most coveted armchair in front of the fire, talking animatedly to Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pansy, and Theodore Nott. Pansy's at his side, holding his hand and occasionally brushing strands of his pale hair behind his ears. The sight nearly makes me lose my dinner. "And even if they were…well, it would get out sometime, wouldn't it?"

I feel as if I've just been hit by a bolt of lightning. "Lyra, did somebody slip you some Essence of Insanity at dinner?" I ask her, entirely convinced that this is a possible explanation for her apparent lunacy. None of this is making sense. "Because I think you just said that you were going to join the _Order of the Phoenix_."

Lyra shrugs again. "Yes, I did."

I stare at her a moment, then stand. Lyra catches my arm. "Where are you going?"

"To ask Snape for an antidote. Your brain's obviously suffered some kind of trauma."

"My brain's fine!" Lyra snaps, causing one of her seventh year classmates to glance up at her in annoyance. "Sit down," she orders, making an attempt to lower her voice, and I'm momentarily reminded of Snape commanding me to keep my seat in the dungeons the other night. "I'm not expecting you to accept this so readily, Ara, but do keep in mind that you just told me I have the ability to make a choice. This is my choice."

This is _much_ more than I'd been expecting Lyra to spring on me. I obey her and resume my seat, my head still spinning with her sudden announcement. I barely notice as Orion slinks around the leg of my armchair and hops lightly into my lap, his yellow eyes fixed directly on my face, silently pleading for attention. "This…this is much too soon," I say finally, slowly and mechanically stroking Orion behind the ears. He nuzzles his head against the palm of my hand and purrs delightedly.

Lyra laughs. It's not a mean laugh, but a sad laugh, one that's resigned. "What did you think, Ara? That I was going to wait until I'd finished school? That I was just going to run away and go into hiding until the war's over?"

"Well…" I hesitate. I don't know what I'd thought. I've pictured my sister running away from us countless times, but never to do any _active_ work for the side of the Light. In my imagination she's always just taken her beliefs and…run away. "I don't know."

Lyra's dark eyes flit across my face, searching me, as if she's trying to read my mind. "I don't know what you thought I was going to do, Ara, but I can promise you I'm not going to just sit on the sidelines while everyone else risks themselves in this war."

I'm at a loss for words. I'm not mad, as Lyra had probably expected me to be – more so bewildered, with absolutely no idea of how to react. "I…I'm going to bed," I say finally, standing up suddenly. Orion, caught unawares, falls off of my lap in a shower of mad hissing; he lands lightly on his feet and gives me a nasty look before disappearing up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Lyra furrows her brow at me concernedly. "Ara, it's only half past eight – "

"I'm tired," I cut across her, following our cat towards the dormitories. I hear her call after me, but I don't stop, stumbling up the stairs in a haze. I'm still awake when Madeleine, Cassie, Daphne, and Pansy enter, the hangings drawn around my bed, and I don't fall asleep until long after their even breathing fills the room.

* * *

"You look terrible."

I scowl. "Thanks, Draco. I'm glad you know how to politely tell me I look like crap."

Draco chuckles, tipping some more dragon dung into his tray. We're in Herbology, reviewing how to re-pot a bouncing bulb in preparation for the O.W.L.s. "Well, I thought someone ought to do it," he says. "What's wrong? Were you up all night fighting with Abgrall and Moneroy? I can't think of any other reason you'd be working with me today and not them."

It's understandable that he's suspicious. I rarely ever work with Draco in any of the classes we have together, but this morning I'd asked to join him, Crabbe, and Goyle at their tray, leaving Madeleine and Cassie with Pansy and Daphne. I shrug. "Aren't I allowed to spend some time with my baby cousin every once in awhile?"

Goyle snickers. Now it's Draco's turn to scowl; he hates when I refer to him as my "baby cousin," as he's a couple of months younger than I am. "Yeah, right," he snorts, crossing his arms. "Like I believe _that_."

I shrug again. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Draco narrows his eyes. "About what?"

I bite my lip and glance meaningfully at Crabby and Goyle.

Draco gets the hint. "Crabbe, Goyle, go work with Nott and Zabini," he orders them, pointing a few trays away, where Nott and Zabini are struggling to re-pot their bouncing bulbs.

Crabbe and Goyle turn to each other, evidently confused. "But, Draco – " Crabbe begins, his gloved hands already plunged deep in manure.

"Are you deaf? I said go!" Draco repeats snappishly. Goyle shrugs and nudges Crabbe, who finally gives in and carries his things over to Nott and Zabini's table. Goyle follows slowly, nearly tripping over the hem of his robes. I roll my eyes. "How can you stand those two? They're so slow and stupid. I wouldn't be able to put up with it."

"They have their uses," Draco answers, pulling on his own gloves. "We can't all be perfect students like you, Ara, sorry to break it to you."

"I'm not perfect," I snap. I have to learn to be perfect for the Dark Lord, and my cousin's words only serve to remind me that I'm currently falling short of his expectations. My hands shake as I pour dragon dung into my own tray and accidentally spill some over the sides, causing Professor Sprout to frown at me from across the room.

"Right, I forgot, that's Lyra, with her ten thousand 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s," Draco snorts. "Shame you don't take after her, intelligence-wise…now, what is it you want to talk about?"

I'd struggled with this decision all night, and around the crack of dawn had finally resolved that I was going to tell Draco everything that had been going on. I lower my voice as I tell him about the Dark Lord's plans for me and Lyra's desire to join the Order of the Phoenix, gauging his reaction every so often. He appears stoic, calm, displaying no visible emotion. Once or twice, Madeleine and Cassie glance over at me, and I'm afraid they've heard everything I've said, but they look none the wiser as they return to their trays and their conversation with Pansy and Daphne.

I finish, waiting for Draco to say something. He stares at me for a moment, then finally says, "I take back everything I just said about Lyra being intelligent."

I groan. "Draco, please, don't tell her I've told you, we've just made up and she'll kill me if she finds out I opened my mouth –"

Draco looks as if he'd like nothing more than to march straight up to the castle and give Lyra a piece of his mind, but he nods stiffly at my request. "All right, all right, I won't say anything," he agrees grudgingly. "I'm not so sure you should have told me any of this, though…he told you to keep it to yourself, didn't he? What if he finds out you've told me?"

I've thought of this, but have no real answer. "How would he find out?"

Draco raises his eyebrows. "He's one of the most skilled Legilimens ever! All he has to do is take one look into your mind, and he'll know all of your innermost secrets. That's how he's able to figure out who's lying to him and who's telling the truth. Didn't you know that?"

I pause right in the middle of squishing my bulb into a pot. "What? No. How do you know?"

"I overheard Father telling Mother about it once, a long, long time ago. They were talking about the old days." I take "old days" to mean the time when the Dark Lord was first powerful. "I'd came to tell on you for turning my toy broomstick into a snake and couldn't help overhearing."

I snort. "Couldn't help it, I'm _sure,_" I say scathingly.

"Honestly!" Draco replies. "Anyway, that's not the point, Ara. I'm just telling you to be careful. Carina _and_ Snape both told you to keep it to yourself. And Mother's been writing to you, badgering you to tell her what's happened? You haven't told her, have you?"

"Of course not! I'm not stupid. Aunt Cissy would be out of her mind."

Draco sighs, blowing a lock of sleek blonde hair out of his face. Though it's November, the greenhouses remain warm and stifling as usual, and I can tell that my burning cheeks are just as red as the tinge rising in Draco's normally pale face. "I don't know, Ara. I _truly_ can't say I agree with Lyra." He glowers, grabbing another bulb with more force than necessary. "She'll degrade the entire family if she runs off to join Potter and his Mudblood-loving fools –"

"She's still my sister," I interrupt heatedly. "And I care about what happens to her!"

"Then persuade her otherwise!" Draco says loudly. At my stricken glance, he looks around, making sure no one is paying us any attention. "She's my cousin, too, and yes, I care about what happens to her as well," he goes on, in a much softer voice. "But if she's going to run out on us, then I can't pretend she's not going to deserve whatever she gets."

The bell rings, signaling the end of the lesson. The rest of the class begins to pack up, but I don't move, glaring at my cousin reproachfully. "And what about me, Draco? If I refuse these 'lessons' from the Dark Lord, are you going to say that I deserve whatever I get, too?"

Draco glares right back at me. "It's not the same, Ara, and you know it."

And I do. Draco and I have an unspeakable bond, a closer connection than I have with either of my sisters – a result of the pair of us being born merely months apart and of spending our entire lives growing up side by side. When we were younger, we'd pretend we were twins, though we looked nothing alike. We'd even made up our own secret "language." Aunt Narcissa had always been so amused by it. "Oh, really? How's that?" I ask anyway, fixing him with a beady eye, intent on getting a straight answer out of him.

Draco opens his mouth to respond, but closes it a moment later, eyes fixed on something I can't see. I turn around. Professor Sprout is standing there, her arms crossed stiffly, a large patch of dragon dung clinging to her hat. "Riveting as I'm sure your conversation must be, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Lestrange," she says, her teeth clenched, "I must ask that next time you're in my classroom, you spend the lesson concentrating on _the work at hand_. Twenty points from Slytherin. Now kindly pack up and get back to the castle."

* * *

Draco and I barely speak for the rest of the week. I remain on civil terms with Lyra, but I refuse to bring up any Order of the Phoenix business; the one time she'd shown a sign of wanting to talk about it, I'd instantly hailed Eleanor to our table in the common room and challenged her to a game of chess. I force myself to push it from my mind, pretending that the conversation between Lyra and I had never even occurred. It's easy to do, with the alarming amount of homework being given to us by the teachers. Cassie and Madeleine had even forgotten to question me on my sudden desire to work with Draco in Herbology, many thanks to the countless essays and practice spellwork in which we'd been engulfed.

"What's the theory behind _Incendio_?" Cassie asks tiredly one night, lazily turning a page in her Charms book. We're in the library with Pansy and Daphne, reviewing for the "practice" exam that Professor Flitwick had hinted he may or may not give us in class this week.

Pansy groans and buries her face in her hands. "Oh, who cares!" She remains face down for a few moments, and I'm tempted to do the same, my eyelids drooping. To my right, Madeleine stares stonily at Adrian Pucey, who's sitting a few tables away with his friends. His back is to us, and he doesn't appear to realize that we're there. Inwardly, I'm thankful, as I'm sure any encounter with Pucey can only turn out less than satisfactory.

Daphne's more interested in examining her nails. "You'd better not let Madam Pince see that," I warn her, nodding at the bottle of Bianca Page Instant Dry "Cheery Cherry" polish she's pulled out of her bag. "She'll have a conniption."

Daphne shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't care what that old hag thinks," she answers, holding the bottle next to her index finger, apparently judging how the color will look on her nails. "I'll chuck it in her face if she says anything to me."

Cassie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right, Greengrass. You're all talk."

Daphne arches her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Am I?" she says lightly. "Because I'm not afraid to throw it in your face, either, Moneroy. Don't push me."

Cassie glares at her. Pansy, still face down, says nothing, though it's quite unusual for her to pass up an opportunity to ridicule Cassie. Madeleine continues to stare at Pucey, her expression one of intense distaste. Finally, she turns back to us. "Can I see that nail polish, Daphne?" she asks her, her face now unreadable.

Daphne eyes her suspiciously but hands it over. "What do you want with it?" she demands. "That's my favorite color, that is!"

"I'm just going to teach Cassie the theory behind _Incendio_," Madeleine replies calmly, pointing her wand at the tiny bottle. "_Wingardium Leviosa._"

The bottle flies lightly into the air, hovering in front of Madeleine, awaiting instruction. She directs it with her wand, ordering it in Pucey's direction. We watch her, confused, as she mutters an incantation to unscrew the cap and pour the crimson liquid all down the back of Pucey's robes. Neither he nor any of his friends, completely engrossed in their books, take any notice. "_What_ are you doing?" Daphne hisses, appalled at the blatant waste of her "Cheery Cherry."

"Muggles have nail polish, too," Madeleine tells us, ignoring Daphne, "Though it's nowhere near as advanced as ours. Witch nail polish contains magical ingredients to keep it from chipping too soon and the color from fading. However, there's one thing it still has in common with the Muggle version."

And, suddenly, I understand.

Madeleine flicks her wand. "_Incendio_."

Instantly, the back of Pucey's robes catches fire, spreading rapidly over the highly flammable polish. He doesn't realize it at first; he's concentrating too hard on his book. "Madeleine!" I exclaim. "What the –"

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Pucey leaps from his seat as if it's riddled with needles, his shrieks disrupting the eerie silence of the library. Steven Urquhart and one of the other boys sitting with him that I don't recognize jump immediately to their feet too and begin shooting jets of water out of their wands, attempting to put out the fire. Pucey stumbles sideways and into a shelf of books, causing several to fall to the ground; a couple more instantly catch the flames from his robes and begin to burn. Madam Pince practically runs over, screaming, her words incomprehensible, though they're no doubt out of concern for her precious books rather than for Pucey.

The entire library erupts in chaos. A group of first year Hufflepuffs scatter in fear as Pucey steadies himself and staggers over to their table, retching. The fire is out, but his robes are smoking and probably singed beyond repair. Urquhart and the other boy rush over, supporting him, while several other students take in the scene from behind the intact shelves. Madam Pince is still struggling with the blazing books, her chest heaving and her breath ragged. "Go get Professor McGonagall!" she screeches at the nearest student, Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. He doesn't hesitate, turning around and sprinting out of the library at top speed.

Nobody at our table has moved. Pansy and Daphne, like everyone else, are staring in shock. Cassie's mouth hangs open in disbelief at Madeleine, and I'm sure my expression must look the same. "Are…you…_crazy_?" she whispers to Madeleine. "_What_ are you _doing?_"

"He had it coming," Madeleine replies evenly. I don't know what to say. Her attack on Pucey seems a thousand times worse than the minor Stinging Hex he'd cast on her, not to mention _completely_ out of character for Madeleine…

Terry Boot returns with Professor McGonagall in less than five minutes. "Irma?" she asks, stepping carefully over the jumbled chairs and discarded books that surround Pucey's table to reach the librarian. Her eyes are angry behind her glasses, her nostrils flared and her fists clenched. "May I ask just _what_ in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

"Ask them!" shouts Madam Pince, her cheeks red, glasses falling askew. She's cradling the remains of a charred book in her arms, pointing a trembling finger at Pucey. "Desecrating my books! Attempting to burn down the library! An atrocity, I tell you, _never_ have I witnessed such behavior in all my years at Hogwarts, my books are ruined, Minerva, absolutely _ruined_ – !"

"We can replace your books, Irma," Professor McGonagall interrupts her irately. She places her hands on her hips and stares menacingly down her nose at Pucey. "You, Pucey – explain yourself _immediately._"

By now, Pucey's regained his breath. "I – I swear I didn't do anything, Professor," he says haltingly, sinking into a chair. "I – I was just – just sitting there, working on my Charms essay, and – and – the next thing I knew, I was on fire!"

Madeleine's unable to stifle the giggle that forms in her chest. Professor McGonagall rounds on her, eyes blazing. "Do you have something you'd like to share with us, Miss Abgrall?"

Pucey's eyes widen with the sudden realization. "It was her!" he yells, pointing. "She did it, Professor, I know it was her – !"

"Did you actually _see_ Miss Abgrall perform the charm, Pucey?" McGonagall snaps, turning back to him. Madam Pince is still crouched on the ground behind her, now examining the damage done to a thick scarlet volume, her eyes livid.

"N – no," Pucey admits, "But I _know_ it was her, Professor! I know it!"

"Miss Abgrall," McGonagall practically spits, "Is this true?"

Madeleine shakes her head, biting her lip. "No, Professor."

McGonagall regards her for a moment, then marches over to our table, fixing the five of us with a calculating look. "And the rest of you – Miss Moneroy, Miss Parkinson, Miss Greengrass, Miss Lestrange – what have you to say about any of this?"

Madeleine narrows her eyes warningly at us. Without missing a beat, Pansy replies, "Nothing, Professor. We don't know what happened."

The rest of us nod our heads in agreement, avoiding each others' eyes.

Lips set in a thin line, McGonagall glances around at each of us, the color high in her cheeks. "Are you trying to tell me, Miss Parkinson, that Pucey _lit himself on fire?_"

Pansy shrugs, though she looks less certain than she did before. "Maybe?"

McGonagall is silent for a moment. She steps back from out table and takes in the semi-damaged area of the library, the anger practically radiating from her. "_Somebody_ is obviously lying," she states in a dangerous voice, her arms crossed. "I need _hardly_ have to point out the childish and absolutely disgusting nature of this behavior! Since nobody is willing to own up to it, then, as it stands, I shall be forced to punish every student in this library."

An instant uproar breaks out at her words. "Abgrall did it!" Zacharias Smith shouts amidst the angry twittering of the other students, pointing at Madeleine. "I saw her, didn't you?"

He appeals to his fellow Hufflepuffs, who all nod vigorously.

"Can it, Smith, I didn't see her do anything!" snaps Ashlynn Forester, a Slytherin sixth year. She tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and glares at him. Her group imitates her, hands on their hips. Ashlynn is much like Daphne – beautiful, conceited, and materialistic. I've rarely spoken to her, but I know the only reason she's vouching for us is because we're Slytherins. Our House sticks together: it's virtually unheard of that any of the other three Houses of Hogwarts would ever be caught dead rallying for a Slytherin.

Predictably, Smith brings up this point. "You're only saying that because she's a _Slytherin_," he says jeeringly, rivaling Ashlynn's glare with one of his own.

"And you're only accusing her because she's better than you at Quidditch!" Ashlynn retorts. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pucey grip his chair tightly.

"Quit defending her, Forester, you know it was Abgrall!" snaps a Gryffindor fourth year, siding with Smith.

"Yeah, I saw her too –"

"So did I –"

"Enough!" McGonagall barks, breaking into the rising banter. She turns once more to our table, her eyes flashing. "Now, Miss Abgrall, I shall ask you one last time, and I would advise you to think carefully about your answer – did you, or did you not, _set fire_ to Mr. Pucey's robes?"

Madeleine bites her lip and hangs her head, sure signs of her guilt. I wait for Professor McGonagall to explode, but all she does is hiss, "Straight to Professor Snape's office. Immediately."

Nobody moves. "All _five _of you!" McGonagall adds menacingly, staring daggers at our table. None of us needs to be told twice. We instantly jump to our feet and gather our things, then file out of the library silently under McGonagall's watchful gaze. Nobody else in the library speaks, not even Pucey. He merely stares as we pass, his expression one of astonishment, smoke still rising from his robes.

We spend twenty extremely unpleasant minutes in Professor Snape's office, fifteen of which consist of Professor McGonagall berating Madeleine for "a disgusting, entirely unprovoked attack on a fellow student" and "unwittingly destroying valuable books and desecrating the Hogwarts library," while intermittently shrieking at Pansy, Daphne, Cassie, and I for "knowingly and stupidly allowing such reckless behavior to occur." Snape doesn't say much throughout her tirade, but I feel his eyes on me, cool and calculating. I avoid his gaze. I know what he's thinking.

McGonagall finally tires of screaming and gives each of us a detention. Pansy groans. "I didn't even do anything, Professor!" she whines, crossing her arms.

"And fifty points from Slytherin!" McGonagall adds, completely ignoring Pansy. Snape appears less than thrilled that the Head of Gryffindor is taking such a large amount of points from his House; his face sours, and he stares at McGonagall with intense dislike. "Now, get back to your common room, all of you. I can't remember the last time I encountered such disgusting behavior from Hogwarts students!"

"Thanks a lot, Abgrall!" Pansy rounds on Madeleine the second we enter the corridor. "You just _had_ to get Pucey back, didn't you? Nobody likes him, Abgrall, but you're such a baby that you can't just put up with him like the rest of us –"

"_And_ you wasted my entire bottle of Cheery Cherry!" Daphne pouts, flouncing ahead of us, her light brown hair rippling down her back. I've never quite figured out how she always manages to appear graceful despite her mood.

Madeleine shrugs. "Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. We stop in front of the blank stretch of wall concealing the entrance to our common room. "Bubble nest," she adds, and the wall melts away to grant us admittance.

"It wasn't even funny," Pansy sneers, intent on venting her spleen, as we head straight for the stairs leading to our dormitory.

"You were laughing," Cassie points out.

"I was not!" Pansy snaps.

"I was right there, Parkinson, don't deny it."

"Well, it doesn't matter, because now we're all in trouble anyway!" Pansy exclaims, flinging open the door to our dormitory and throwing herself on her bed. "That old hag will find some really horrible detention to set us… she'll probably tell Snape to make us gut toads, or have Filch force us to clean out the bathrooms – "

"Can you shut up?" I interrupt her testily, opening my closet and pulling out my nightgown. I quickly shed my robe and pull the soft material over my head, feeling it snag slightly on my earrings – princess cut diamonds, a gift from Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius on my last birthday. "We're all pissed, Parkinson, but going on about it isn't going to help anything. It's been a long day, we're all tired, and I'd like to go to bed without hearing your mouth running in the background."

Pansy stares at me, her expression unfathomable, as everyone else around her takes my lead and begins to prepare for bed. Cassie is normally the one that fights back, and I can tell it's surprised Pansy that I've actually snapped at her. Very unsurprisingly, however, Cassie laughs loudly, crawling onto her bed and grabbing a hairbrush. "Finally, somebody backs me up," she says, pointing the brush at Pansy before beginning to run it through her deep red curls. "Get your ass in bed, Parkinson."

Madeleine already appears to be half asleep, her hangings drawn, as if she can't be bothered with her surroundings. Daphne is lying on her stomach, scribbling away into a leather-bound book – her diary. She writes in it every night without fail. Cassie once tried to steal it in our second year, but ended up in the hospital wing after it shot a stream of Doxycide in her face. We've still yet to figure out how Daphne even got hold of such a substance, let alone charmed her diary to chuck it at the first unexpected intruder. Pansy's face is turning red, but it's more out of temper than anything else: she's not winning this battle and she knows it. "I will _kill_ you if I have to do something disgusting tomorrow, Abgrall," she spits at Madeleine's hangings, giving them a dirty look, as if they've mortally offended her. She turns her gaze on Cassie and me before violently drawing the hangings around her own bed and flouncing into her mattress, the springs creaking under her weight.

Cassie chuckles again, setting her brush on her nightstand. "Night, Are Bear," she says, smirking as she pulls her comforter over her head.

I nearly throw my pillow at her, but settle for shooting her a filthy look instead – a pointless move, as she can't see it, anyway. I despise being called "Are Bear," an absolutely ridiculous nickname that she came up with in our first year, but thankfully she's refrained from using it too frequently in front of me over the past year. She's much more prone to referring to Madeleine as "Lady Marianne." Seething silently, I slip into bed, quietly pulling the hangings together, creating a barrier between myself and the outside world. Pansy is sighing softly but dramatically, tossing and turning every few moments. Cassie's deep, even breathing is already permeating the room. Madeleine is awake, no matter how well she tries to fake it. I wonder how she feels, what she's thinking. I wonder why she did what she did – revenge is an unknown word in Madeleine's vocabulary. She's not like that at all; in fact, she's often regarded as the sweetest between the three of us. I wonder how we can mend the bridge that is still separating us. I wonder who she's seen die.

I wonder who Madeleine is. It's as if the evening's events have unveiled a completely new side of her, one that I've never seen, and one that I'm not quite certain I understand.

Then Daphne blows out her candle and envelops the room in darkness.

* * *

I would love a review or two. I know I've been absent for quite some time, but it's for a lot of personal reasons. I still love this story and plan to continue it, no matter how long it takes me. I just want to thank everyone for being such loyal readers!


	14. Desperation

**A/N: **Hello there my lovely readers! I've finally come up with the next chapter for you all. As always, I apologize for the delay. I'm horrible at keeping up a consistent updating schedule, I know, but I do try to get everything out as soon as I can. I appreciate you guys for sticking with me. I love that people are enjoying this story! It gives me such a good feeling. Thanks for all the positive feedback, I'd love to receive some more with this chapter!

**Chapter 13 - Desperation**

_Miss Lestrange,_

_ Your detention will take place this evening with Professor Snape. _

_ You are to report to the dungeons at eight o'clock. Bring your cloak._

_ Professor M. McGonagall_

I slowly stroke Abraxas' feathery head as my eyes travel over the note he'd delivered from Professor McGonagall. He's drinking deeply from my goblet of pumpkin juice, jostling the owl that had brought Cassie's letter to the side. "I _knew_ I'd get Filch!" Pansy whines, throwing her piece of parchment down and huffing angrily. "Get out of there!" she snaps, pushing a large barn owl away from her plate of toast. The owl hoots indignantly and flies off, closely followed by the other three school owls that had delivered our detention notices. Abraxas stays, still buried in my goblet. I close my eyes and tiredly rub my forehead. I can feel a dull ache beginning to pound.

Daphne sighs and folds her parchment neatly in half, sticking it inside the cover of her Transfiguration book. "I have Madam Pomfrey," she says tonelessly, running her fingers through her light brown hair. "What possibly is there to do in a hospital wing?"

"Clean the bedpans," Cassie answers promptly, helping herself to a piece of Pansy's toast. Pansy's too busy being caught up in a snit about her detention with Filch to notice. "I had to do that once for a detention last year."

Daphne wrinkles her nose. "That's disgusting!"

Cassie shrugs, slathering butter on her toast. "It was better than the time I had to clean out the flobberworm tubs for Hagrid."

Cassie's probably spent more time in detention than the rest of us combined. She's had every punishment imaginable: lines, Muggle-style cleaning, nights in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. Nothing really seems to have an effect on her, and she's always given detention for the same reasons – namely her big mouth and inability to know when to shut it, though the small amount of concern she has for her schoolwork can sometimes get her in trouble as well. "I've got Snape," I tell them, slipping my own note into my bag.

Cassie rolls her eyes. "Of course you do," she says, as if it's no big surprise. "You're the only one who actually likes making potions."

"Who says I'll be making potions? He could make me scrape rat spleen from underneath the tables."

Cass snorts. "You're Snape's favorite, Are Bear. That says it all."

I stare at her. "Is there some reason you've started using that stupid nickname again?"

"I missed it. It's no fun having a nickname for someone if you never use it."

I open my mouth to retort, but Daphne interrupts me: "Who do you have, Madeleine?"

The four of us glance over at Mad, who until now has been silent, slowly stirring sugar into her porridge. She shrugs. "It doesn't matter." Her blank expression turns downward into a scowl. "I have to miss Quidditch practice tonight now for this."

Pansy laughs meanly. "And whose fault is that?" She practically yells, crossing her arms. "Thanks to you and your stupid ego, Abgrall, I'll be following Filch and his damn cat around the castle all night, probably cleaning up stink pellets and Dungbombs and whatever else idiots like those Weasley twins are constantly setting off in the corridors! I have better things to be doing with my time! _Why_ couldn't you just leave Pucey alone?"

"Shut up, Parkinson, I'd do it over again if I had the chance!" Madeleine snaps, pushing her bowl away and standing up abruptly. She grabs her bag and stalks off towards the entrance hall, refusing to give us a backward glance, her blonde ponytail swaying furiously.

"Way to go, Parkinson," Cassie says sarcastically, following Madeleine's retreating figure and then fixing Pansy with an angry glare.

Pansy glowers at her. "_Excuse_ _me_, Moneroy, for being pissed that I have to spend my night in detention all because Abgrall is an idiot! I'm getting really sick and tired of her attitude lately! She's a bitch to everyone!"

"That's different from how _you_ act every day in what way?" Cassie retorts nastily. "And I'm just getting really sick and tired of you in general, Parkinson, so I guess we're even."

I block out their bickering and continue to massage my temples, praying for the throbbing in my head to cease. It's not working, and I can tell that I'm starting to fall ill; my nose is slightly stuffed and there's a jabbing pain in my throat every time I swallow. There's just been so much on my mind lately – Madeleine and Lyra, the Dark Lord, my school work – that I haven't been sleeping properly, as well as merely picking at my meals. It hasn't helped that Snape took away my late-night potions brewing. It's the one thing that always manages to soothe my nerves and keep me calm, no matter how upset I may be.

"You've barely touched your food, Are Bear," Cassie points out, as if she's read my mind, indicating my still three-fourths full plate. Her argument with Pansy is apparently over, the latter red-faced and locked in a hushed conversation with Daphne.

I avoid her gaze, inwardly cringing once more at her use of "Are Bear." "I'm not very hungry," I answer noncommittally, nudging Abraxas out of my goblet and tossing him into the air. He hoots softly before heading off in the direction of the Owlery. "Come on," I say, standing and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "We're going to be late for Transfiguration."

* * *

By the time my detention with Snape rolls around that evening, I'm unbearably tired, having almost fallen asleep in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Hermione had prodded me awake in Arithmancy, startling me so badly that I'd knocked half my things to the floor. "Are you all right, Ara?" she had asked concernedly, her brows knit in earnest as I'd reached over to retrieve my fallen copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_.

"Yeah, fine," I'd answered, straightening up and placing my book back on my desk. I'd cradled my forehead in my hands, trying to ignore the curious stares aimed at me by the other students."I'm just tired."

"You've missed nearly everything Professor Vector's said about Bridget Wenlock," Hermione had continued, still appearing concerned. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I'd nodded, adjusting my seat and attempting to pull myself together. "Yes, Hermione, everything's fine."

She'd loaned me her notes after class, promising to pick them up at dinner. _Ever the courageous and chivalrous Gryffindor_, I think sardonically to myself as I travel the familiar path to the dungeons, remembering the disgusted look Draco had given her when she'd appeared at our table. He'd been seated too far away to actually insult her, but the expression on his face had said enough. I'd ignored the incredulous glance he'd shot at me, and I'd had to give Granger some credit for having enough guts to walk up to the Slytherin table on her own. I hadn't copied her notes, however. I'd had two essays – one for Professor McGonagall and one for Professor Sinistra – to complete that were a lot more pressing. I hadn't been particularly worried about Arithmancy to begin with. Whatever Professor Vector had said about Bridget Wenlock is more than likely something I can easily research on my own.

I reach Snape's office and stop to compose myself before knocking, cloak slung over my arm. My head is still pounding, and my throat feels raw, as if I've spent the day at a Quidditch match screaming my lungs out. I run a hand through my hair, knowing I can't show any signs of weakness in front of him; he'll call me out on it instantly. Taking a deep breath, I knock, entering only after Snape's cold voice bids me to do so.

Snape doesn't bother to look up as I slip into the room and quietly shut the door behind me. "Good evening, Miss Lestrange," he says coldly, dipping his quill into an ink bottle. He seems to be grading essays, and I'm reminded of my previous trip to his classroom for detention, the night he'd taken me to speak with the Dark Lord. He'd been doing the same thing: tearing students' essays to shreds with his vicious red quill. I wonder vaguely what kind of mark I've received on my essay about Awakening Potions.

I wander tentatively into the classroom and take the seat I usually retain in Potions, folding my hands in my lap and waiting for him to finish. "Ironically enough, Miss Lestrange, this happens to be _your_ essay that I'm marking," Snape says lightly, setting down his quill and holding up the parchment for me to see. "I'm beginning to believe you were the only one present in class the day we discussed Awakening Potions."

I let out my breath in relief. I guess there's my answer.

Snape sets the essay down and studies me for a moment, his expression calculating. "Did I not, Miss Lestrange, ask you to come to me if you were having difficulty coping?"

I return his gaze, completely confused at his abrupt change of subject. "Sir? I don't know what you mean, I'm perfectly fine – "

"You're ill," Snape interjects, rising and walking around his desk. At his words, a cough instantly bubbles in my chest, but I choke it down, refusing to prove him right. Undeterred, however, he weaves his way through the aisles until he is directly in front of me, arms crossed as his shadow falls across my desk. "I wasn't aware that such a state qualified as 'fine.'"

I say nothing, opting instead to stare down at my hands. I don't need Snape nosing his way into my emotions.

The Potions Master regards me for another moment, and I brace myself for the slew of additional detentions I'm sure to receive for my insolence. To my surprise, Snape merely strides back to his desk, retrieving his cloak from where it's draped across the back of his chair. "Put on your cloak and come along, then," he says snidely, throwing his own around his shoulders. "Since you are so arguably _'fine,'_ you should have no trouble assisting me in collecting potion ingredients from the forest."

I groan inwardly, but obey him and stand to fasten my cloak. It's only one night I have to get through; a little thing such as a cold won't hinder me. I can only pray that Snape won't choose to bring up anything on the Dark Lord or the incident between Madeleine and Pucey. I'm in no mood to discuss either, and I can think of nothing more awkward than sharing my feelings with my Potions professor, in spite of how long I've known him or how adamantly he's insisted that I come to him if I experience "_difficulty coping_."

We make our way through the drafty dungeons, neither of us speaking. The corridors are deserted; it's nearly curfew, and most students have chosen to return to their common rooms rather than risk being caught by a teacher. I shiver slightly as we reach the entrance hall, the chill from the dungeons still flowing through my veins. I can only imagine how cool it will be once we step outside –

"_Hem, hem_."

Both Snape and I snap our heads around at the sound. Dolores Umbridge approaches from our right, hands on her hips, her lips drawn into a toad-like smirk. "Good evening, Professor Snape," she simpers sweetly, giving him a wide smile, though her gaze lingers on me.

Snape's lip curls. "Good evening, Dolores," he replies curtly, sounding as if he wishes exactly the opposite.

Umbridge's smile expands, stretching across her pouchy face. "It's rather late on a Monday evening, don't you agree, Severus?" she comments casually, her voice losing some of its sugary sweet coating. "Where might you and Miss Lestrange be off to?"

Snape's countenance, if possible, turns even angrier. "Miss Lestrange has a detention to complete," he responds through gritted teeth. "She is to assist me in gathering potions ingredients from the forest."

"Detention?" Umbridge repeats, sounding surprised. She rounds on me. "What for, Miss Lestrange?"

I shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. McGonagall must have done some serious downplaying for the incident in the library not to have reached Umbridge's ever-present ears, and I don't want to go blurting it out and making her aware of the situation. Thankfully, however, Snape saves me from answering: "She has failed to hand in our most recent essay on Awakening Potions, Dolores. I do not tolerate that sort of laziness in my classroom."

Umbridge arches her eyebrows in surprise. "Well, Severus, I highly doubt it was out of laziness!" she says, her voice holding a hint of shock. "Miss Lestrange is a model student in my class! There must be some sort of explanation." She glances at me expectantly.

I bite my lip, thinking quickly. "Just... just the stress of the O.W.L.s, Professor," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. It's such a deeply ingrained excuse, one that I've used much too often lately. "I was so preoccupied with all my other homework that Professor Snape's essay completely slipped my mind. It was just a mistake."

Umbridge continues to study me. "You don't look well, Miss Lestrange," she observes, folding her arms. "It's no surprise; the O.W.L.s can place a great deal of stress on fifth years. I assume this is why I have not had the pleasure of your company lately?"

Snape glances at me sharply. I know she's referring to why I haven't returned to her office, relaying to her Harry Potter's every move, since the day we had tea. "No, Professor," I reply, careful to avoid Snape's eyes. "I've just been really busy."

Umbridge smiles again. "I understand, Miss Lestrange, and I won't hold it against you," she says girlishly, her voice sickeningly sweet. I'm surprised I've received nothing more from her than an observation of my health; I was expecting a long-winded lecture about my "laziness," at the very least. "Take care of yourself, dear, you know how important your school work is." She places her hand on my shoulder. I fight the overwhelming urge to shrug it off.

Snape is practically bursting with anger beside me. "It's been a pleasure, Dolores, but these potion ingredients can't wait all night," he says through gritted teeth, his black eyes flashing.

"Of course," Umbridge answers, that infuriating smile still in place. "I won't keep you any longer, Professor Snape. I hope to never see you in detention again, Ara," she says, turning her attention to me, her use of my first name not unnoticed by either of us. "Good evening!" she turns and walks back towards the marble staircase. I want nothing more than to rip the ugly pink Alice band from her hair.

Snape waits until we are safely on the grounds before exploding. "You're spending time in the company of Dolores Umbridge? _Alone?_"

"No!" I snap, the harsh tone of my voice scratching my throat.

Snape matches his stride to mine, his black robes whipping about him like an overgrown bat. "Then why, Miss Lestrange, is she implying that you have not been to _visit_ lately?"

I groan in frustration, refusing to look at him.

"You would rather place your trust in that – _woman_ – " Snape spits, and I can tell that "woman" is not the word he'd intended to use, "than in _me?_"

He's still on about the coping business. "I'm not going to her for anything, and I don't trust her," I say impatiently, stopping abruptly as we reach the outskirts of the forest. I hesitate, wondering if I should reveal to him what Umbridge had wanted from me.

"Well, then?" Snape prods acidly, crossing his arms, reading the look on my face.

I'm not afraid of him. I've seen him in much angrier moments, and I don't get why he's so upset that I haven't come to him with my feelings. Snape isn't known for being warm and sensitive. "She wants me to keep tabs on Harry Potter," I tell him finally, leaving out any mention of Lyra and the ridiculous Dumbledore's Army meeting in the Hog's Head.

Snape is quiet for a moment. "When did this occur?" he asks, his voice controlled.

I think back to my meeting with Umbridge. "About a month ago, sir."

Snape glares at me. "And you waited until _now_ to inform me of this?" he says, still in the same calm voice, though I can tell danger is lurking underneath.

"I…I didn't think I needed to tell you every little thing going on in my life, _sir_," I answer, a bit sardonically, staring down at my feet.

We don't speak for the rest of the evening. Snape sets me to work gathering aconite, which is a pain because of its great toxicity. I suspect he's done it on purpose because he knows that simply being in the same vicinity as such herbs will irritate my already growing illness. I don't complain, however, and I definitely don't let my cold overtake me as I suffer through the evening. Snape barely pays me any attention. Half of the time he's hardly within eyesight, gathering more dangerous plants, his thin hands gently weeding and trimming the roots.

At quarter to midnight, Snape finally announces that we've done enough for the evening and can return to the castle. I'm beyond tired and my bones feel like they're colliding with one another as I trudge across the grounds, my arms full of plants, Snape slightly ahead of me. He's still angry, I can tell, though I know that working with something related to Potions has relaxed him considerably. That's one way we're similar.

We reach Snape's office and spend another half an hour labeling the plants and fixing them in jars, to be preserved until tomorrow, when Snape will extract the venom from the specific plants that contain it. Finally, he tells me that we're finished, his tone short and irritated. "Goodnight, sir," I say quickly, grabbing my cloak and heading for the door. I've never been more eager to get to bed; my head feels like it's been repeatedly beaten against a brick wall.

"Miss Lestrange."

I lack the energy to be annoyed, so I simply turn around, weariness seeping through every pore of my body. Snape is pouring a bright red potion into a vial, using his trained eyes as a measuring device. "Sir – " I say tiredly, starting to protest.

Snape thrusts the vial in my hands. "Drink it," he orders, leaving no room for argument. "You're sicker than you think you are, Miss Lestrange, and I will not permit you to leave this room until you have consumed that entire potion."

I don't even try to fight back. I slosh the potion around the glass a bit before drinking it, involuntarily shuddering as it sears my insides. "Thank you," I say weakly, handing the vial back to him, feeling slightly as if I'm going to throw up.

Snape doesn't even bother to look at me. "Get to bed," he says shortly. "You know the side effects that potion can carry. I will speak to you more tomorrow."

I barely make it back to the common room before becoming violently sick.

* * *

Lyra sat in the chair across from Dumbeldore's desk, twirling a lock of chestnut hair nervously around her finger. She'd caught the Headmaster on his way down to a staff meeting, and he had graciously allowed her to wait for him in his office until he returned. She'd never been in Dumbledore's office before. It was a large, circular room, covered wall to wall with books that she was itching to get her hands on. There was also a variety of mysterious silver instruments resting on spindly tables around the room, some whirring and emitting puffs of smoke. They looked like nothing she'd ever seen before, and she wondered what they were used for; probably some sort of complicated, rare magic, considering Dumbledore's brilliance. The nearest one looked like three blocks stacked on top of one another, each rotating in a different direction. She reached out a hand to touch.

"Keep your hands off of the Headmaster's possessions, girl!"

Startled, Lyra nearly fell off her seat, her heart racing furiously. She glanced up to see one of the portraits behind Dumbledore's desk speaking to her, pointing his ear trumpet at her emphatically. "I – I'm sorry," she apologized, straightening herself in the chair. "I just – wanted to see what it was for – "

"The Headmaster's business is no business of yours, missy!" the portrait went on, his face heated red. "Why, in my day – "

"Curiosity is not a sin, Fortescue," interrupted another portrait, this one of a man with a thin face and pointed beard. Lyra immediately recognized him as a Slytherin; he had been painted wearing emerald robes trimmed with silver. "Dumbledore's own words." He studied Lyra, his eyes slanted and calculating. "Slytherin, I see. My own House, you know. Are you a pureblood?"

"That will do, Phineas."

Lyra turned around. Dumbledore had entered the room, dressed in robes of deep burgundy. She stood up quickly. "Good evening, Professor."

"Ah, Miss Lestrange, don't trouble yourself to rise on this old man's account," Dumbledore said with a smile, waving his hand in an indication for her to take her seat.

"Propriety, that's what we Slytherins have!" Phineas piped up, rising to his feet as well. "I doubt any brainless _Gryffindor_ would bother to show respect to your position, Headmaster –"

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore interjected once more, effectively silencing the portrait. He made his way to the other side of his desk and sat down across from Lyra, continuing to smile at her serenely. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," he told her, resting his elbows on the desk and putting the tips of fingers together. "Unfortunately, there were a few…_issues_ that needed to be taken care of amongst the staff."

Lyra would have bet the emerald ring that Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius had gotten her for her seventeenth birthday that Dolores Umbridge was at the heart of those "issues."

"However, that is no concern of yours," Dumbledore went on, observing her above his spectacles. His penetrating gaze made Lyra feel as if she were being x-rayed. "Now, if I may be so forward, what is it that is troubling you?"

"Troubling?" Lyra repeated, hoping her true feelings weren't showing on her face. "I'm not troubled, sir – "

"Ah, now, Miss Lestrange, there is no need for pretense," the Headmaster interrupted gently, leaning forward slightly. "I am rather skilled in reading others' emotions. I know that there is something bothering you, whether you reveal it to me or not."

Lyra squirmed slightly in her chair, biting her lip. She couldn't back out now. "I – I wanted – "she paused, twisting a handful of her robes nervously and keeping her dark eyes trained towards her lap_. Just get it over with_. "Iwanjoordafenix."

"I'm sorry, Miss Lestrange, I didn't quite catch that," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, his blue eyes twinkling knowingly.

Lyra inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain calm. It was now or never. _Just do it_. "I want to join the Order of the Phoenix," she repeated, more clearly this time, forcing herself to meet the headmaster's gaze.

Dumbledore looked neither shocked nor thrilled at her announcement. He merely continued to study her, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. Lyra bit her lip, unsure if she should attempt to argue her case further, or simply get up and leave. Dumbledore had no reason to trust her. It wasn't every day that a member of the Black family willingly crossed over to the side of the Light. He probably thought that she was just as prejudiced and supportive of the Dark Lord as the rest of her immediate family and her ancestors. It had been a mistake for her to come to him. "I – I'm sorry, Professor," Lyra said hurriedly, practically jumping to her feet. "I shouldn't have come. I don't know why I did. I'm just wasting your time. I'm sorry. I'll just go." She started towards the door, blinking back tears and seething internally for making herself look like an idiot in front of the headmaster.

"Miss Lestrange."

Lyra already had one hand on the doorknob, but she turned around, her stomach churning violently. "Sir?"

Dumbledore hadn't moved from his seat. "Please sit back down."

For a moment, Lyra didn't move. Then she slowly made her way back to the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk and lowered herself into it, bracing herself for whatever came next.

Dumbledore didn't speak right away. "You are a brave girl, Miss Lestrange," he said finally, folding his hands across his chest. "To go against everything that your family, for generations, has stood for, requires a certain amount of courage and strength."

Lyra said nothing. She wanted so badly for him to accept her, but she was afraid that if she tried to speak, something inside of her would burst.

"Have you told anyone else of this?" Dumbledore went on, watching her intently. "I can't imagine that any of your relatives will have taken kindly to your intentions."

Lyra nodded slightly. "Ara."

Dumbledore nodded along with her. "Yes, of course," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "You are, certainly, aware that I must hold some reservation for you," he said, now addressing her directly. "Your aunt and uncle are former known supporters of Lord Voldemort. It would be wise to assume that they have raised you in many of the same ideals that Voldemort so passionately pursued."

"_I hate him!_" Lyra interrupted, the dam within her snapping. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly, her face flushed. "He's corrupted Carina, Professor, and I'm terrified that he's going to take Ara, and I can't let that happen, I just can't! I know you don't trust me, but I'm nothing like my aunt and uncle. I'm nothing like my mother. I just want this war to end! I'm not going to sit on the sidelines while that monster destroys my family and my life. I don't care if I'm disowned, or if my family hates me, or if I die trying to protect them. This war is tearing my family apart and I can't take it anymore. I need to fight to keep them together. Please, sir, you have to believe me. Please. Give me a chance."

Dumbledore once more was quiet, simply observing her curiously. Desperation ripped through Lyra's chest; her throat was so constricted that she was surprised she still retained the ability to breathe. _He can't say no. He can't_. _Please_. She needed this. She'd never needed anything more in her life.

The headmaster was silent for so long that Lyra felt the last bit of hope drain from her body. Once more, she rose to leave, her heart heavy, a few salty tears escaping from her eyes.

"Miss Lestrange."

Groaning inwardly and discouraged beyond belief, Lyra turned again, ready to beg him to just allow her to return to the Slytherin common room in peace.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."


	15. Questions With No Answers

**A/N: **Hola, dear readers! I'm back with another chapter. And this time, I have a question for you guys – do you like seeing scenes between the other characters, or would you prefer to see simply Ara and her feelings/reactions towards things? You've probably noticed that I write Ara in a first-person, present tense perspective, while I write the other characters from a third-person, past tense point of view. I do this because first-person POV, obviously, gives a lot of insight into what a character is thinking, and since this story is primarily about Ara, it's important to get a deeper look into her thoughts. I think using third-person for the other characters shows bits of what they're thinking, but never the whole thing. So, I don't know, does that work for you guys? I'm open to ideas. I just think it's interesting to see how things are working out between the characters not at Hogwarts, and that it adds a new element to the story.

But that's enough babbling from me. Enjoy the chapter! =]

**Chapter 14 – Questions With No Answers**

Carina sat at her uncle's desk in the drawing room, looking over her hastily scribbled notes for what felt like the thousandth time: _8:00 A.M., Colette departs for the Ministry, spends the next nine hours there. 5:00 P.M., arrives home. 6:00 P.M., has dinner ready for husband and kids. Spends the next few hours talking with family, doing Ministry work. 10:00 P.M., goes to bed. _Sighing, Carina leaned back in her chair and ruffled her long, chestnut hair. She couldn't believe that anyone had this boring of a life. "Honestly, this twit spends all of her time either at the Ministry or at home," she snapped, spinning around to face her uncle, who was seated on the couch. "What the hell sort of useful information am I supposed to be gathering from that? Well, I mean, her husband's a Muggle-loving fool like Arthur Weasley, so unless the Dark Lord is planning to off him next, then I don't see the point –"

"Watch your language, Carina," Lucius interrupted her smoothly, turning a page in his book.

Carina snorted. "What, '_hell?'_ That can _hardly_ be considered terrible compared to the things that come out of Draco's mouth!"

"You're a lady, Carina. I doubt that Elliot finds that language attractive," Narcissa replied, a slight smile playing on her lips. She sat on the couch opposite her husband, quill and parchment in hand as she contemplated which families to invite to Lyra's birthday party. "Do you think we should invite the Bulstrodes this time, Lucius? They didn't seem to fit in well at Carina's party, and Alameda Parkinson told me just the other day that their wealth is on the decline –"

"I'm glad you're taking this so seriously!" Carina snapped, getting to her feet and flouncing over to them. She plopped down next to her uncle and crossed her arms haughtily, though her annoyance only served to enhance her features. "You know how important it is that I pass this test!"

Lucius sighed and closed his book. "What would you like us to do, my dear?" he asked quietly. "The Dark Lord has given you a task. It is not up to us to do your work for you."

Carina narrowed her eyes. "I'm not asking for your help!" she snarled. "I'm simply concerned over the lack of helpful information I have to pass on to him! You remember what happened when Podmore failed to retrieve the prophecy!"

"Gathering information on Colette may have nothing to do with the prophecy," Lucius reminded his niece, reaching across to grasp her hand. "There are other followers working on that goal, Carina; it is not safe for you to assume that you know all of the Dark Lord's plans."

"But the prophecy is what he desires most!" Carina argued. "What could possibly be more important than that, Uncle Lucius? As far as I know, Colette's never even been on the same floor as the Department of Mysteries! What is the purpose of having me tail her every move? She has to tie into the prophecy somehow!"

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged glances. "Don't question things, Carina, just do as you're told," Lucius finally said, running his thumb affectionately over her cheek. Narcissa remained silent, staring down at her parchment. "Concentrate on the task that has been assigned to _you_, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

Carina stared at her aunt and uncle for a moment before speaking. "You know something, don't you?" she whispered, pulling away from them. "He's told you what he's planning, hasn't he?"

"We know nothing," Narcissa answered brusquely, avoiding her niece's gaze as she added another name to her list. "The Dark Lord still has not told us what he wants with Ara, either."

"You're lying!" Carina shrieked, jumping to her feet. "I can see it in your face! He may not have told you at first what he wants with Ara, but you know now! That's why you've stopped writing to her and pleading with her to tell you! And what he wants with her intertwines with me, doesn't it?"

"Carina –" Lucius began, also getting to his feet, but Narcissa beat him to it, her eyes flashing. "I've told you, Carina, you should have never gotten involved in this!" she exclaimed, coming face to face with her niece; they were almost exactly the same height. "You're too young, _all_ of you are too young, to be meddling in such affairs –"

"I'm twenty years old, Aunt Cissy, I'm not a child anymore!" Carina spat, placing her hands on her hips. "I can make my own decisions! Honestly, how many times are we going to have this ridiculous argument?"

"As many times as it takes for you to listen!" Narcissa screeched. "You think you know best, Carina, you've always been defiant and willful; you're going to get yourself into trouble with the Dark Lord one day –"

Carina laughed mirthlessly. "You're just jealous because he's entrusted a job to me, while you sit around the manor all day fretting over Lyra, Ara, and Draco!"

A dazed look swept over Narcissa's face, as if she'd just been slapped. "Don't be surprised if your _'job'_ isn't everything that you think it is," she whispered, backing away from her niece and resuming her seat on the couch.

Her words only served to fire Carina up again. "So I'm right, you _do_ know something!" she accused, pointing a finger at her aunt. "Why hasn't he told _me?_ I was there the night that Snape brought Ara to him, too; how on earth did he decide to leave me out of this –?"

"That's enough!" Lucius finally interrupted sharply, grabbing Carina's forearms. "Calm yourself, Carina, you're getting out of hand! You said it yourself that night; if you were told not to talk, then you need to keep your silence. None of us are any the wiser of what happened when the Dark Lord spoke with Ara, or of what his reasons are for having you follow Colette. Stop making unfounded accusations."

Narcissa let out a small sob from her corner. Carina engaged in a determined staring contest with her uncle for a moment before wrenching her arms out of his grasp. "You've lied to me," she said coldly, her dark eyes filled with something Lucius had never seen before. "I'll find out. Trust me on that."

She wasn't the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange for nothing.

* * *

"Ara, you look terrible."

I can't count how many times I've heard those words lately. "Thank you, Cassie," I say sarcastically, sliding into my seat at the Slytherin table and accepting the mug of coffee that she offers me. "Don't hold back, now, I'd like to know what you really think."

Cassie shoves me lightly. "Honestly, Are Bear, you look like you haven't slept in days. Are you still ill?"

I shrug. The potion that Snape had given me had done its job – besides the initial bout of vomiting, of course – and eliminated my headache, sore throat, and stuffed nose, but my fatigue hadn't gone away. "I guess so," I answer, since it seems to be the easiest way out.

"Can't you get Madam Pomfrey to give you some Pepper Up Potion or something?" Pansy asks, shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth. "There are some of us that would like to remain disease-free."

Cassie snorts. "I think you're a little late for that, Parkinson."

Pansy glares at her from across the table. "You're absolutely disgusting, Moneroy. The things that come out of your mouth make me want to hurl."

I tune them out as they continue to bicker and catch Daphne's eye. Her exasperated look matches how I feel; she and I may not always get along, but we at least agree that Cassie and Pansy often make living together a nightmare. "Want to head to Defense Against the Dark Arts early?" she asks me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, let's go." Hopefully Umbridge won't be in the classroom yet. She usually doesn't arrive until class is about to begin, but with my luck today will be the day she decides to get there early. I suppose it's a small price to pay to escape from the constant fighting between my roommates.

We leave Pansy and Cassie to their argument and head towards Umbridge's classroom, making small talk about classes and the O.W.L.s as we walk. We meet Madeleine along the way; she'd skipped breakfast in favor of sleep. "Can we talk?" she asks me bluntly as we take our seats in the classroom. The extra hour of sleep hasn't done her much good – her blonde hair is thrown up in a messy bun and her face is ashen.

My heart skips a beat; I can tell that shock has registered on my face." Um…well, yeah, of course. What's up?"

Madeleine shakes her head. "No, not here." She pulls out her copy of_ Defensive Magical Theory._ "I have Quidditch practice tonight, but, uh, is afterwards okay?"

I twirl a lock of hair nervously around my finger. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll just…you know…probably be working on homework. We can…we can start the latest rune translations, if you'd like."

Madeleine smiles slightly as the rest of the class begins to filter in, Cassie's and Pansy's angry voices rising above the rest. "Sure. I need all the help I can get."

* * *

Madeleine doesn't return from practice until after dinner, her emerald Quidditch robes splattered with mud. "It's raining," she announces grouchily, pulling out her wand and starting to siphon the dirt from her robes. She glances around the common room. "Where's Cassie?"

I tap my quill against my parchment. "Library," I respond vaguely, staring down at the second translation. "Daphne's with her. Pansy went somewhere with Draco, he came back from practice a few minutes before you did." To do what, I'd rather not consider.

Madeleine nods. "Can we go up to the dormitory, then?"

I nod, too, gathering my books together. I follow Madeleine upstairs, trying to avoid the mud dripping from her robes and onto the floor. "How was practice?" I ask conversationally as we enter the room. My nerves are going haywire; I can't believe that this is actually happening – that Mad and I may be on the verge of making up.

Madeleine shrugs. "Wet and cold," she answers, struggling out of her robes and leaving them in a pile at her feet. She's wearing Muggle clothes underneath: a baggy white shirt and skintight black pants called "leggings." She claims they're good to wear while she's practicing, but I think they look incredibly uncomfortable. The closest my sisters and I have ever come to Muggle clothing is the occasional skirts and sweaters we wear around the manor; I wouldn't be caught dead in any other type of Muggle apparel. A lot of students at Hogwarts dress like Muggles when they're not in class, but Aunt Cissy has dressed us in casual robes since we were young. I suppose I'm just used to it by now. "The team is looking really good, though. If we don't win our next match it'll only be because Pucey cursed us or something."

I chuckle. "He's not still bothering you, is he?"

Madeleine shakes her head, her damp ponytail spraying droplets of water everywhere. "Not since I set him on fire. I think I scared him."

It's weird having a conversation with Madeleine that doesn't involve sarcasm or the cold shoulder – weird, but nice. It's been weeks since we've spoken like this, and it's for that reason that I believe she's finally ready to come back to my side. "So…what did you want to talk about?" I ask tentatively, settling on my bed.

Madeleine is quiet for a moment, studying the fresh robes in her closet. "I'm sure you've guessed," she says finally, selecting her favorite pair of dark, mauve-colored robes. She offers nothing else, however, as she slowly strips off her Muggle clothes and pulls the clean robes over her head.

I sit silently and wait. This has to be on her terms.

Madeleine inhales deeply. She's still facing her closet, her dirty Quidditch clothes still grasped tightly in her hands. "I'm going to tell you this because I believe you're my friend," she blurts out suddenly, turning to face me. Her blue eyes are filled with tears.

"I've always been your friend," I say earnestly.

Mad ignores me and plows on. "My uncle Thierry died over the summer," she says, her words rushed, as if she's trying to get it all out as quickly as possible. "He showed up at our house one night, covered in blood and barely able to speak. It was late, but Ariane and I were still awake; we were on the porch, just talking. He Apparated out of nowhere and I swear, Ara, I've never been so scared in my life. We called for Papa and Maman, but there was nothing they could do, it was too late. He was Maman's brother. He died in her arms."

My limbs feel paralyzed; I can only imagine how horrible that must have been. "Maddie, I'm so sorry," I whisper. "What had happened to him?"

Madeleine dabs at the tears running down her cheeks with the sleeve of her robes. "Uncle Thierry was…well, for lack of a better word, a nomad. He traveled the world and never stayed in one place for long; it was what he loved to do. We really only saw him around the holidays. Maman told us that last she'd heard, he'd been in Luxembourg. She figured he'd been attacked by a stray werewolf and used the last bit of his strength to come to us for help. He was covered in bite marks."

I study her. "But you don't believe that, do you?"

Madeleine sighs and sits down next to me on the bed. "I did at first," she answers, staring down at her hands. Her nails, as usual, are perfectly French manicured, despite the hell she puts them through playing Chaser. "Ariane and I didn't question it. It did seem a bit odd that he wouldn't try to Apparate himself to St. Mungo's – because really, what could Papa and Maman have done for him? – but we figured that he'd known he was going to die regardless, and wanted to spend his last moments with his family. He and Maman had always been close."

Tears leak down her cheeks again. I grab her hand and, thankfully, she doesn't pull away.

"Then, when you told us that the Dark – the Dark Lord had returned," Madeleine goes on, her voice hushed, "I began to think there was more to the story than my parents had let on. I can't explain why, but I just _know_ that something sinister was behind his death, Ara. Things just didn't add up. And the fact that you waited so long to tell us that the Dark Lord was back just confirmed for me that something had to have happened."

"Mad, you _know_ I'm sorry about that," I say immediately, tightening my grip on her hand. "I was so afraid that you and Cass would never speak to me again –"

"I know, I know," Madeleine cuts in. "It's me who should be sorry. I just…I was scared too, Ara. I still am. We've been friends for years, but I don't know what to trust anymore. Things are going to change. And I still don't know the truth of how my uncle died. All I know is that it wasn't normal. There was something behind it. I just _feel_ it."

"Did you ask your parents?"

"No," Madeleine answers. "I don't want to put it in writing. But you know how they are, anyhow, I doubt they'll tell the truth. Maman will still claim he just ran into a crazed werewolf."

I'm not sure if Madeleine is looking for me to calm her fears, if she thinks that I have some secret knowledge of her uncle's death. There's nothing more that I want than for us to be friends again, but I can't lie to her. For all I know, her uncle may really have just been attacked by a werewolf – but my instincts tell me otherwise. "I'm sorry, Mad, but I don't know anything about your uncle," I tell her gently. "I honestly don't know much of anything."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

I hesitate. There are too many complications created with that question, and if I ever were faced with a situation where I had to choose whether to expose or hide critical information about her family to or from Madeleine, I really don't know what I would do. "Of course," I say anyway, pulling her into a hug. I may not be lying. I'd already chosen to tell her and Cassie about the Dark Lord's return. Who knows, in the future I might be willing to reveal the truth again.

I suddenly wonder if Cassie harbors the same fears as Madeleine. The news about the Dark Lord hasn't seemed to affect her much, but then, Cassie is quite adept at burying her feelings, just as she is at letting them show. She prefers to be loud and obnoxious rather than admit that she's scared or upset. It unnerves me that I may not know her exact feelings, and for a moment I consider whether or not I should ask her. I don't like the thought of Cassie keeping her panic to herself. She's like Carina, fearless. I count on her for my strength.

Madeleine hugs me back. I can feel her trembling. "_Je suis désolée_, Ara," she murmurs, her voice choked with sobs. I sometimes forget that when Madeleine becomes upset enough, she reverts to her native language. She may have been born in London, but her parents speak French at home more often than not. I'm familiar with some of her more common phrases. "It's okay, Mad," I tell her, stroking her hair. "I promise, things will be okay. Let's just concentrate on ourselves right now, all right? Don't worry about anything else. We've got O.W.L.s and Quidditch practices and endless mounds of homework. Let's just deal with things as they come. Okay? And forget the past. We're both sorry and we both love each other. We've been friends for too long to let darkness come between us. You're right, things are going to change, and we have to stick together."

Madeleine sniffles and leans back. "You're right," she says, giving me a watery smile. "I've been such a bitch to you. I just can't let go of what happened to my uncle and it's been stressing me out, you know? I just want the truth. I don't want to accept that horrible things are going to start happening…I guess I'm lucky you can forgive me, Are Bear."

I grab my pillow and smack her with it. "Not you, too!" I exclaim. "You know I hate that stupid nickname!"

Mad laughs. "'It's no fun having a nickname for someone if you never use it!'" she says, imitating Cassie. She throws herself across my bed, arms spread out to the sides. "How could I have ever thought such terrible things about you?"

I don't answer. She shouldn't erase those thoughts so readily.

* * *

"Is Dumbledore _insane?_" Sirius Black roared, jumping to his feet and pounding his fist on the kitchen table. The impact sent a large amount of tea slopping over the sides of his cup, but he noticed nothing as he looked around expectantly at his comrades, hoping one of them would contradict the news that Lupin had just delivered. "This can't bloody well be true!"

Lupin sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Will you sit down, please, Sirius?" he asked, his tone weary. "I've just spoken to Dumbledore. You know I wouldn't make up something like this."

"Does he know who this girl _is_, Remus?" Black went on as if Lupin hadn't spoken, showing no inclination to resume his seat. He threw his hands above his head. "She'll betray us all! There'll be Death Eaters breaking down the door within a week!"

"You know very well that only Dumbledore can reveal the location of our headquarters," Lupin replied quietly. "He's well aware of who she is, Sirius, and he's willing to give her a chance."

"And for what reason?" Moody cut in, turning his gnarled face towards Lupin, his magical eye swiveling in all directions. He raised his hip flask to his lips and took a swig, slamming it down just as roughly as Black had struck the table. "I agree with Sirius, Remus; you won't be able to beat the Black out of that girl. She's grown up being fed all that pureblood cocka-mania from Lucius Malfoy! I'll be damned before I let her set foot in here!"

Lupin sighed again and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He had already known convincing his fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix that it would be an absolutely _brilliant_ idea for Lyra Lestrange to join them would be a daunting task, but he'd taught the girl for a year and held less bias against her than the others. Lyra was a clever girl, one of the best in her year, and he'd learned long ago that there were things much more important than a person's lineage. Nevertheless, he wished that Dumbledore would have chosen to break the news himself, rather than entrust the job to him. "Dumbledore trusts her," he said simply. "I won't pretend to know his reasons, but I trust Dumbledore's judgment."

Black made a noise somewhere between a snort and a snarl and kicked his chair out from underneath the table before throwing himself into it, still looking furious. Moody's expression mirrored Black's, his lopsided mouth twisted into an angry scowl. "I'll be having a word with Dumbledore, you can bet on that," he snarled, reaching down the side of his chair for his walking stick. "I'll head to the school right now, in fact, make that man see some sense –"

"Maybe we should give her a chance."

Lupin had nearly forgotten that Tonks was present; she had not, up until now, said a word since he had arrived and announced to everyone Dumbledore's decision. She was glaring defiantly at Moody and Sirius, her bright pink hair a severe contrast to her pale face. "Look where you come from, Sirius," Tonks went on. "You never once showed an interest in the Dark Arts. You served twelve years in Azkaban for a crime you didn't commit, all because you wanted to avenge Harry's parents. What's to say this girl isn't the same way?"

Black stared her, dumbfounded. "Is that tea or firewhisky?" he asked nastily, jerking his head towards Tonks' and Lupin's half-drained cups. "Both of you are completely out of your minds!"

Tonks crossed her arms. "I've met her, Sirius," she said shortly. "Narcissa occasionally brought them around for visits when we were children. My mother would probably remember better, but Lyra, as I recall, was the sweetest and quietest of the three. If I had to choose one to join us, it would be her."

Black laughed loudly. "And how old were you when you last saw her, Dora? Nine, ten? Hate to break it to you, love, but people change over the years."

"Not so much that her entire personality will have been warped!" Tonks snapped back. "I'm only a couple of years older than Carina; I was in my fifth year when Lyra started at Hogwarts. I didn't see her much, obviously, but aside from the routine whisperings about her parents, there was never a bad word about her around the castle. From what I heard, she was actually rather smart and agreeable." She paused a moment to sip her tea. "I really doubt that she's drastically changed, Sirius. Oh, damn!" she added, as her tea cup slipped from her grasp and hit the floor, shattering to pieces. A good amount of tea had permeated the Weird Sisters t-shirt in which she was clad. "Remus, pass me a napkin, will you?"

Moody chuckled. "How you ever passed the Stealth and Tracking portion of the Auror exam, girl, is a mystery to me." Tonks tried to glare at him as she repaired the tea cup, but she could never stay mad at anyone, especially her mentor, for long. Laughing good-naturedly, she disappeared under the table to clean up some of the liquid that had traveled onto the floor.

"Come on, Dora, you don't really know this girl at all!" Black said, bringing them back to the topic at hand. He got to his feet again. Lupin made a gesture as if to stop him, but Black threw his arm out to prevent it. "Moody already said it: she's spent her entire life with Lucius Malfoy. What do you think he's been drilling into her head all these years, that we need to kiss and make up?"

"And as Tonks said," Lupin cut in, "Your parents tried to drill the same pureblood mania in _you_, Sirius, and never succeeded –"

Black laughed again, this time more raucously, his features twisting into something animalistic. "You're mental, the pair of you!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "This is nothing to do with _me_, Remus! I had you and James and even Wormtail to keep me sane, who does this girl have? Narcissa? Her sisters? She's surrounded by evil –"

"She has me."

Four pairs of eyes swiveled toward the doorway. "Ah, Severus," Lupin said, getting to his feet, "Good afternoon. We didn't even hear you come in."

"Given that anyone within a mile radius was probably rendered deaf by Black's tantrum, I'm hardly surprised," Snape replied coldly, removing his cloak and draping it across one of the chairs. He sat down and glared at Black. "Well? Are you going to offer me a drink?"

Black snorted. "Don't give me orders in my own home, _Snivellus_."

Snape's face remained impassive. "That wasn't _ordering_, Black, that was simply me pointing out your lack of common courtesy."

"Sirius, have Kreacher bring some more tea for all of us," Lupin interjected before the argument could get out of hand. The muscles in Black's face worked furiously for a moment, as if he was itching to continue harassing Snape, but finally he spun around and went off in search of the house elf. Lupin sighed and ran a hand tiredly across his forehead. "I assume, then, Severus, that you're aware of the situation at hand?"

"Of course I am, Lupin," Snape snarled. Moody narrowed both of his eyes as he studied Snape warily. Tonks kept her eyes trained on her shirt, attempting to remove the tea stains. "And I'm sure that all of you are aware that hardly anyone in the Order knows the Lestrange girls better than I do. If I believed that Lyra is the kind to betray us, I would have recommended to Dumbledore that he deny her request."

"It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" Black said loudly, striding back into the kitchen and taking his seat roughly. Kreacher the house elf was right behind him, balancing a fresh pot of tea on a tray and muttering to himself about "nasty blood traitors."

"What are you going on about now, Black?" Snape asked irritably, accepting the cup of tea that Kreacher had poured for him.

Black opened his mouth to reply, but Moody cut him off before he could speak. "Can it, the both of you, I don't have the time to deal with two year olds!" he growled, picking up his walking stick and bringing one end crashing to the floor. "What's your take on the girl, Snape? Is she headed for the loony bin like her mother?"

Snape took a swig of tea before speaking. "Well, as Nymphadora has already stated," he began, inclining his head towards Tonks, "Miss Lestrange is one of the most – if not _the_ most – intelligent students in her year. She does, in fact, harbor many of the qualities that make Miss _Granger_," he went on, pronouncing Hermione's name with distaste, "So annoyingly endearing to the rest of you."

"How can you even _compare _Hermione to that girl?" Black barked, leaning forward as if he wanted to jump across the table and strangle Snape. "Dora hasn't seen her for years, and she's in _your_ House, so of course you'll spin an endless string of lies about her to Dumbledore, trying to make her look like some sort of saint –"

"Perhaps you ought to listen to someone other than yourself for once, Black, it may be to your advantage," Snape interjected waspishly, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"Severus, Sirius, please." It was Lupin interrupting this time, weariness seeping from every pore in his face. He turned to the rest of the table. "We can disagree as much as we'd like, but Dumbledore's decision is final."

"Doesn't mean we have to like it, sonny," Moody snapped, using his walking stick to aid him in getting to his feet. "I'll be keeping my eye on her, that's for damn sure. Speaking of which, when do we get the pleasure of meeting the girl?"

Lupin sighed and glanced at Snape. "Soon, Alastor. Sooner than you think."

* * *

And there you have it! Don't worry, even if things seem confusing to you, it'll all pan out eventually. =]


	16. Empty

**A/N:** Hello, all. It's been quite some time since I've worked on this story, and I'm sorry for leaving you hanging. I hope this chapter makes up for it… Also, in case anyone's wondering, I have a HUGE crush on Snape. Like, HUGE, haha. So if it seems like I have a tendency to write a lot of Ara/Snape scenes, that's why. I'm a sucker for them, and since he's always had a close relationship with Draco, I figure it's only natural for him to have one with Ara as well, especially since she's the niece of one of his good friends. Don't deny it, you can't get enough of Snape either :D

**Chapter 15 – Empty**

"Carina suspects, my lord," Lucius said, pacing the drawing room floor anxiously, his brow knit tightly. "She does not understand why that Colette woman must be killed. She believes that the duty you have set her is an unimportant one, and she is convinced that it ties in to your plans for Ara." He paused, running a hand across his forehead. "My lord, we beg you…please, allow us to confide in Carina –"

"How many times have I told you, Lucius?" responded a cold, high voice from the chair behind Lucius' desk. "I do not wish for Carina to know more than she already does. Your constant requests to enlighten her are beginning to irritate me."

"But, my lord," Narcissa cut in from her spot on the sofa, her blue eyes wide and earnest, "We only wish to make her understand; she is willful, defiant like her mother, if only she knew more –"

"Carina is not a child, Narcissa," the Dark Lord interrupted, rising from his seat and sweeping around Lucius' desk to face the two Malfoys, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "I will not coddle her or cave in to her demands. She has failed me, and this is her punishment."

"Don't – don't you think the Cruciatus Curse was punishment enough, my lord?" Narcissa pressed, somewhat timidly. "She has learned her lesson, I am sure –"

"Enough!" the Dark Lord hissed, his tone laced with venom. Immediately, Narcissa fell silent, lowering her gaze to her lap. Lucius ceased his pacing and took a seat next to her, reaching for her knotted hands and gently gripping one in his own. "Do not anger me, Narcissa! I regret revealing the plan to you and Lucius; you have given me nothing but grief over it since!" He crossed his arms and cocked his head, sending an icy glare in the direction of the former Black girl and her husband. "Am I to follow _your_ orders, Narcissa? Am I, the most powerful wizard in the world, to bow down to _you_, to serve _you_, to worship _your_ every waking move?"

Narcissa's blonde head snapped up. "Of course not, my lord, of course not, I was not implying –"

"Whatever you were implying, Narcissa, is of no concern to me," Voldemort interjected coldly, turning his back on her. "This is the _last_ time you will speak of Carina to me. Do so again and you shall suffer my wrath. Am I clear, Narcissa? Lucius?"

Narcissa's eyes fell downward once more. Lucius glanced at her, then to the Dark Lord. "Yes, my lord," he responded, speaking for both himself and his wife. "Crystal clear."

"Excellent," the Dark Lord replied, making his way over to the big picture window behind Lucius' desk. December had not quite arrived yet, but the skies were continuously producing gales of snow; the lands around the manor were glistening with it, the tips of the surrounding trees dusted a stark white. "Severus has, I trust, been keeping you up to date on Ara's Potions scores?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said again. Narcissa remained silent. "Would you like me to fetch his latest report –?"

"Do you believe that Severus has not kept me similarly informed, Lucius?" the Dark Lord said silkily, staring unseeingly at the snowflakes swirling lazily outside the window. "It is on my orders, after all, that he monitors her progress. He has even begun looking for reasons to assign her detention, in order to give her more practice."

"Of course, my lord, of course," Lucius murmured, squeezing Narcissa's hand reassuringly. She squeezed back, and he raised her hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her pale skin.

The Dark Lord continued to gaze out the window, oblivious to Lucius' gesture of affection – a lucky break for the Malfoys, as he despised any show of the pathetic concept of _love_. Love was nothing compared to power. Quirrell – idiotic fool though he was – had been quite right in the words he'd spoken to Harry Potter four years ago: There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. "She shall be ready soon, then," he whispered, tracing his smooth chin with a long, white finger. "Everything is falling into place."

* * *

_Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy are proud to announce the engagement of their niece_

_CARINA ASTEROPE LESTRANGE_

_to_

_ELLIOT AGNELO RYELAND_

_son of Agnelo and Jacqueline Ryeland._

_Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy request the honor of your family's presence on_

_Friday, the 22__nd__ of December, 1995, _

_at 7 o'clock in the evening_

_to celebrate their niece's betrothal. _

_Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy will also be celebrating the 18__th__ birthday of their niece_

_LYRA ELECTRA LESTRANGE_

_Please respond with your acceptance or declination by Monday, the 11__th__ of December, 1995_

"HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?!"

I snatch the emerald and silver embossed invitation out of Lyra's hand and stuff it into my bag. She's been waving it in front of my face for the past ten minutes. "Yes, Lyra, I've seen it," I respond tersely, picking up my quill and continuing to scratch out the conclusion to my essay on Self-Sufficient Aquatic Plants for Professor Sprout. "Abraxas delivered the same invitation to me barely ten minutes ago. You saw me open it."

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Lyra prattles on, as if I haven't even spoken. She reaches across Cassie and grabs the invitation addressed to me, which I'd left lying next to my plate. "When have any of us ever had a _joint party?_"

"Maman's always done that for us," Madeleine offers, pouring herself some more pumpkin juice. She and Ariane both have birthdays in May. Their parents have always celebrated with just one party for the pair of them, usually during the summer holidays. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."

"Yeah, if it's for your _birthday_," Lyra seethes, reading over the invitation again with narrowed eyes. "This is an engagement party! What am I, some sort of mildly interesting sideshow?"

"I thought you didn't want a huge party?" I cut in, looking up from my essay. "You said Carina's was enough to be carrying on with, remember?"

Lyra opens her mouth to speak, then closes it – she knows I'm right, but I've only called her out on it to shut her up. Breakfast is barely over and she's already in a frenzy; I'll be hearing about this for the rest of the day. "That's not the point," she says, dropping her voice to a whisper and leaning forward so Cassie, Madeleine, Ariane, and Eleanor can't hear: "Doesn't it seem to you like they're… _ostracizing_ me?"

I glance around at our friends before answering: Cassie and Madeleine, having lost interest in our conversation after listening to Lyra pitch a fit for the last ten minutes, are comparing Charms notes, and Eleanor and Ariane – similarly bored – are busy poring over the advice column in _Witch Weekly_. "An engagement is a big deal, Lyra," I finally say, running a hand through my thick black hair. "It would take too much time and effort to have a separate party. It makes more sense to just celebrate your birthday with the engagement. I'm sure that's the only reason Aunt Cissy did it; she's just trying to be efficient."

Lyra stabs at her sausage moodily. "I suppose," she says, but I can tell my words have done nothing to sway her. "It's still not right. They could have waited until summer to have the party, they're rushing the engagement for absolutely no reason." She locks eyes with me, and I understand everything she's not saying: she's convinced that she's fallen out of favor with our aunt and uncle; that her obvious lack of enthusiasm for the Dark Lord is slowly pushing her out of our family. I'm even less sure of her standing now that she's confided in me her wish to join the Order of the Phoenix – I am the only one who knows, of course, but it won't remain a secret forever. Lyra may be determined to play her part in this war, no matter what the cost, but I know all too well her desire for peace in our family, the need to keep us from breaking apart. "I may as well not even show up, everyone will be so focused on Carina. It'll be like I'm not even there."

I set down my quill and reach across the table to take her hand. "Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius love you," I say softly. "And you know that's not true. I, for one, will be paying much more attention to you than to our sister and that idiot fawning all over each other."

Lyra manages a small smile. "Can you believe they've actually gotten engaged after all this time?"

I laugh, but it quickly turns into a hacking cough. I need another potion from Snape – the one he'd given me after detention the other night doesn't have long-lasting relief – but I'm too stubborn to go to him or Madam Pomfrey and admit that I'm sicker than I have been. "I'm not surprised, we knew it was coming. He's been kissing up to Carina for years, no matter how much she tries to deny it."

My sister sighs wistfully. "I do enjoy a good wedding," she says, propping her chin in her free hand. Of the three of us, Lyra has always been the most "hopelessly romantic." As intelligent and level-headed as she is, she still has hope in fairytales and happy endings. "And Elliot's always made her happy, so…"

I snort. "It's his money and pureblood status that makes her happy, you know that as well as I do. You've been saying for years that's the only reason she's holding out for him and not doing something more resourceful with her life."

Lyra rolls her eyes. "Yes, well, at least I get on with him rather well, you only hate him because you think he's boring."

"Because he is! Boring and stupid, writing Carina six page letters every week! And remember the Goyles' party that one year, when that seven-year-old got hold of her mother's wand and accidentally put the Bat-Bogey Hex on him? He cried like a baby!"

Lyra laughs loudly. "So would you, if you had great ugly bats flying out of your nose!"

We both burst into fresh peals of laughter, the memory of Elliot running screaming from the ballroom as the winged creatures forced their way out of his nostrils still fresh in our minds. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get her something, even if her fiancé _is_ a dim-witted idiot apt to be outsmarted by seven-year-olds," I say once I finally regain control of myself, my chest aching from the chortles that had quickly turned into another bout of coughing.

Lyra studies me closely. "Are you all right? You've been sick for a few days now. Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?"

I shake my head and disengage my hand from hers in order to neatly roll my Herbology essay. "I'm fine, Lyra, it's just a cold."

Lyra rolls her eyes again. "You're so stubborn," she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder as the bell sounds. She gets to her feet. "Anyhow, we can go shopping for a gift for Carina the day after we get home for the holidays. Something from the high-end of Diagon Alley. Perhaps Draco would even like to tag along… we can make a day out of it. How does that sound?"

Her eyes are wide, bright and earnest, but I can see the bitterness buried within them, the dark shadows of something more that she is hiding from me. "Perfect," I respond, shoving my essay into my bag and effectively spoiling the tidy job I'd done rolling it. It doesn't matter. Everything falls to ruins eventually.

* * *

"Lyra's in some type of mood this morning, eh?"

Draco thinks he's funny. In an unusual turn of events, _he's_ asked to work with _me_ in Herbology this morning, sending Crabbe and Goyle to work at their own tray and leaving Cassie and Madeleine to once again share with Pansy and Daphne. In return, I'm stuck dealing with his sarcastic and cocky attitude. "Bright one, aren't you?" I respond sardonically, producing a hair band from my pocket and pulling my hair out of my face into a tight ponytail. "I'm surprised they haven't asked you to join the Wizengamot yet."

Draco chuckles. "I got the invitation to Carina's party, too," he says, pulling on his dragon skin gloves as Professor Sprout calls for us to hand in our essays. As if I don't already know this; I'd witnessed Abraxas deliver a fancy invitation to him at breakfast as well. "I must say, I'm glad Mother and Father never saw it fit to give _us_ a joint party. April and June are rather close, you know, do you think it's something we should be worried about next year?"

"Quit being an ass," I snap, holding my hand out for his essay. He places it in my palm and I give it, along with mine, to Blaise Zabini, who Professor Sprout has sent around to collect the essays. "You were sitting too far away to hear exactly what she was saying, how would you know that's what she was upset over?"

Draco shrugs and begins checking his akarata, the poisonous water plant Professor Sprout had directed us to begin caring for last week, for signs of budding venom. "It was quite obvious just from reading the invitation," he answers, stroking the plant's leaves gently. His akarata is still young, so the leaves are hardly imbued with toxins; the plant instead tries to attack him, nipping playfully at his gloved fingers. "Quite clever of Mother to send them to us at breakfast, it gets everyone hoping that their parents received invitations. Really shows you who's who, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand how Pansy – or anyone, for that matter – finds you charming," I say, slipping my hands into my own gloves. "You really are a self-centered git."

Draco looks up at me. "What's your problem today? Don't let Lyra's foul mood rub off on you. One irritable cousin is more than enough, thank you."

I sigh. "It's not that." I pause, staring unseeingly at my akarata swaying in its tray of water, giving off the appearance of an innocent water lily. "It's just… she's worried, Draco. She thinks she's being purposely ignored."

Draco takes a moment to carefully inspect his plant's roots before responding. "Well, if she's still going on about this Order of the Phoenix business, then I wouldn't be surprised."

"Shut up!" I cut in immediately, giving a horror-stricken glance to our classmates. Thankfully, nobody seems to be paying any attention; they're too busy watching Professor Sprout lecture one of the Ravenclaws for attempting to extract venom from his plant by twisting its leaves. "Bloody hell, Draco, do you want everyone to hear you?"

"And what if I do?" Draco retorts, crossing his arms. "Stop defending Lyra, Ara. She's chosen her own beliefs. I've told you before, if she's going to side with Potter and the rest of those Mudblood-loving idiots, she'll have to deal with the consequences. If Mother and Father are really alienating her, then they're doing the right thing. Do you really want Lyra dragging us through the mud? Destroying our entire family?"

"How can you cut her off so easily?" I argue, finally turning my attention to my plant and running a finger over one of its smooth leaves. Inwardly, I recall our similar discussion from last week's Herbology class. I understand why he's willing to fight for me and not her, but at the same time, I don't. "We're more than cousins, Draco, we're practically your sisters – ouch!"

"Did it bite you?" Draco asks, momentarily distracted from our conversation as I lift my finger to examine the damage. "It didn't break the skin, did it?"

It takes me a moment to realize it's not my finger that's in pain, it's the spot just above the wrist of my glove, where my school robes have already begun to stain red. "Damn it," I mutter, ripping off my glove and gripping my hand with my uninjured one. Four tiny puncture marks are visible below the sea of red, quickly turning a nasty shade of purple.

"Oh, hell," Draco swears, grabbing me by the elbows as I sink to my knees, my breath shallow. Uncontrollable chills work their way down my spine; my cousin's eyes are wild, more frightened than I've ever seen them in my life. "Help! Professor Sprout, please, help!"

And then my world goes black.

* * *

_Red eyes are searching me, merciless, piercing into the very depths of my soul. "Join me, young Lestrange," a cold, high voice whispers, brushing softly against my ear. "Join me, and you will rise to a greatness you have never known." A cool hand grabs my arm, strong, forceful, pulls me closer._

_ Automatically, I twist away, ripping my arm out of his grasp. I realize instantly that I've made a terrible mistake: the red eyes narrow dangerously, the thin lips curl down in a menacing snarl. "I – I'm sorry," I apologize hurriedly, my voice trembling. He raises his wand and points it at me. "Please, forgive me… please... I'll do anything you want…"_

_ He considers me for a moment, then lowers the wand. He stretches out a pale hand towards me. "Join me," he repeats._

_ I can still run. He is giving me a choice; I know that he will not hurt me if I decide to turn away now – after that, however, there are no guarantees. He will hunt me down until he finds me. He will kill my family, torture my friends for information on my whereabouts. _

_ And if I continue to run, he will destroy my life._

_ The Dark Lord grins. He knows my answer._

_ Slowly, I place my hand in his, shivering at the cool temperature of his skin. His smile widens as he curls his long fingers around my delicate ones. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice like a melody, chaining me to his side._

* * *

I can't tell if I'm asleep or awake, but I hear snatches of voices, loud and soft, echoing in the chambers of my brain: "…fine…" "…yes…well of course she was wearing gloves…" "…don't know…" "…eaten? Breakfast was hours ago…" "…well _of course_ I gave her a Nutrient Replenisher, Severus…"

It's dark. It's dark, but strangely, I'm warm, and I feel so light. And soft. So soft. I don't have to move. I can just float.

And then the wave crashes over me.

I jolt straight up in my bed, that cold, real-world feeling spreading rapidly through my veins as my body fights its way to consciousness. It's freezing, and my limbs feel heavy, and my breath comes in shuddering gasps; for one wild, heart-stopping moment, I have no idea where I am, flailing my arms around like a fish out of water. "Aunt Cissy? Uncle Lucius? Carina? Please, please –"

The next thing I know, hands are grasping me, forcing my thrashing arms to be still. "Hush, child," whispers Snape, pinning my arms to my sides and fixing me with a beady eye. Madam Pomfrey is next to him, her expression one of motherly concern. "You're in the hospital wing at Hogwarts."

His assurance has a slight effect on me: I continue to try and free myself, but my efforts against his grip are half-hearted. "What… what's going on?" I ask hoarsely, willing myself to calm down. _You're safe. There is no danger here_. _Those aren't _his_ hands._

Snape glances over at Madam Pomfrey. "I will attend to her, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey reacts as if she's just been told to stuff it. "Miss Lestrange is _my_ patient, Severus!" she retorts, scandalized. "And if it's all the same to you, I would prefer to go on healing her as I was before you barged in!"

"Snape," I murmur, inadvertently grabbing onto one of his wrists in another bid for freedom. "Let him stay, Madam Pomfrey, please. Please."

I'm barely coherent, but Madam Pomfrey acquiesces to my request, shooting Snape a murderous look before pursing her lips and marching towards her office. "She's angry," I observe, wincing as she slams her office door and involuntarily tightening my grip on Snape's wrist.

"Very astute of you." Snape releases my right arm and uses his free hand to gently disentangle his wrist from my grasp. He takes hold of my lower arms firmly and gazes into my eyes once more. "How are you feeling? And please, Miss Lestrange, spare me your lies, I haven't the time or the patience for them tonight."

Panic instantly rises within me again. "Tonight?" I repeat, studying the hospital wing more carefully. The moon is visible through the window across from my bed, and there are candles lit along the walls. "_Tonight?_ But – I've missed all my classes! What day is it? Have I missed the entire week?" Alarmed, I yank one arm from Snape's hold and swing my feet over the side of the bed.

Either Snape is incredibly strong or I'm much weaker than I think I am; he has no problem forcing me back into bed. "It's still Wednesday, Miss Lestrange," he says, reinforcing the strength of his clasp on my arms. "Now, I shall only ask you one more time: how are you feeling?"

My brain is spinning. "Tired," I respond honestly, allowing my head to droop forward and brush against his chest. Normally, no one with an ounce of sense would ever _dare_ to get this close to Snape, but I can't seem to control my actions. Fear still courses through my body, and I feel numb and energized at the same time. Most of all, I feel confused, unsure of what exactly is real and what I've fabricated in my head.

Snape lowers me back down into the bed until my head is resting on the pillow. "If you promise to stop trying to throttle me, I'll release you," he says dryly. "Do we have a deal?"

I nod, attempting to force my heart rate to return to normal. Snape lets go of my arms and reaches into the pocket of his robes, withdrawing his wand. He conjures a glass from midair and silently directs it to fill with water. "Drink," he commands, holding it out to me. I accept it with shaky hands, accidentally slopping some water over the sides. The cool liquid soothes my raw throat and I drink greedily, draining the glass in just a few gulps. "More?" Snape asks as I hold the glass out to him, his tone still rather stiff.

I nod again. Snape waves his wand and the glass refills to the brim. "I'm not surprised," he says, watching me closely. "Dehydration is normal after being poisoned."

I slurp down the remaining water and set the glass on my bedside table. "Poisoned?" I repeat, my voice much clearer and my hands less unstable. The water, for whatever reason, acts as a calming mechanism, steadying my nerves.

Snape eyes me. "You don't remember?"

I shake my head slowly.

"You sustained an akarata bite during your Herbology lesson this morning," Snape explains, stowing his wand back in his pocket. He takes my right wrist in his hand and guides it in front of my eyes. I notice for the first time that it is tightly bandaged. "Fortunately, the plant was still young and the venom not fully matured. Had it been an adult plant, we would have a much more serious situation on our hands."

"Oh." I furrow my brow, trying to recall what had happened in Herbology. After a few vague moments, it comes to me, as well as the memory of my conversation with Draco. Tears begin to well in my eyes for reasons I can't explain, but I blink them back, determined not to cry in front of Snape.

Snape is oblivious to my emotions; either that, or he's chosen to ignore them. "Were you wearing gloves, Miss Lestrange?" he inquires, getting to his feet and heading over to a door in the corner of the room.

I roll my eyes tiredly. "Yes, sir."

Snape opens the door and extracts something. "They clearly did a fine job in protecting you," he says sarcastically, heading back over to me. In his hands is a pristine white washcloth. "Where did you buy them? I'd like to purchase a pair for myself."

I sigh. "I didn't realize my wrist was exposed, sir. Can you just tell me how long I'll have to stay in here?"

Snape pulls out his wand once more and touches the tip to the washcloth. "Through the end of the week," he replies, carefully dampening the cloth. Before it can become too saturated with water, he removes his wand and stuffs it back into his robes, then folds the cloth in half. "Akarata venom is very dangerous," he explains, sweeping the hair back from my forehead and placing the cloth on my feverish skin. "It is a powerful ingredient in many rare poisons when bred to maturity. An antidote must be administered within seconds if the victim is to be saved. Professor Sprout, as required by educational law, had such an antidote on hand, and was able to provide you with it before any serious damage had been done to your organs." He rests the back of his hand on my cheek, checking my temperature. "Perhaps they are not plants that should be dealt with by fifth years, but with the proper protective gear, they're relatively harmless."

I snort. "Well, that was a really helpful antidote. I feel like I've been put through a round of the Cruciatus Curse."

Snape smirks and resumes his seat at my bedside. "Degrees of pain and fatigue always come along with akarata poisoning," he says, "No matter how quickly the antidote is given. A person's preexisting physical state also plays a part as well; if you are already ill, the poison is likely to irritate that infection and cause greater harm to your body."

"Yeah, I get it," I snap, closing my eyes. "You don't think I'm taking care of myself. Can you stop harping on it?"

"Do not think that I am averse to giving you detention, Miss Lestrange, simply because you were poisoned," Snape replies smoothly. "I have tolerated your rash emotions as of late, but your newfound secretive nature has begun to grate on my patience."

I keep my eyes shut and will myself to maintain a blank expression. "I'm tired, sir. Could we please save this discussion for another time?"

Snape is quiet for a moment. "You are hiding from me," he says finally, and I know now for certain that he's aware of my unshed tears. The mattress sinks then rises as he stands. "I seem to remember telling you, Miss Lestrange, that it is not wise to run from things." Footsteps make their way towards the door, heavy, measured. "I will be back tomorrow to check on you. Perhaps overnight you will decide I'm worthy of your trust."

The door to the hospital wing opens and shuts, but his bitterness and anger continue to permeate the room, hanging over me like a cloud. I exhale loudly and turn on my side, removing the washcloth from my forehead as I do so. I _am_ hiding – of course I'm hiding, but I'm only safe in my own mind, and only for so long. Even my dreams are beginning to turn on me.

Madam Pomfrey – no doubt alerted by Snape's departure – comes out of her office, muttering to herself. It's easiest to pretend I'm sleeping as she pulls my blankets up to my shoulders and uses her wand to warm them. Her actions remind me of home – Mally places a heating pan between my blankets every night; it's almost as if I'm lying in my own bed. I listen to her walk up the ward, murmuring charms to extinguish the candles and draw the curtains. Finally, I hear the click of her office door, and the entire ward falls silent.

There is too much on my mind for me to sleep, even though I'm still unbearably tired. I shift uncomfortably, fingering the bandage on my wrist. Confusion. That's all there ever is in my head anymore, just one conflicting thought after another. I'd give anything to escape. To run away, to find an alternate world where none of this terror can touch me or my family. I don't even know what I believe anymore, or what I'm going to tell the Dark Lord, or where I stand with my sisters and Draco, or where they stand with me. Where I stand with myself. I don't understand a thing, and it's so much easier to give in, to cease caring.

Both my body and mind are exhausted. I just need a season to hibernate.

I squeeze my eyes shut. This time, I let the tears fall.

* * *

I hope the ending doesn't seem too rushed. I'm just trying to convey the absolute confusion Ara's feeling, as everything she's kept hidden catches up with her.

I also hope the characters don't seem disconnected. As I said, it's been awhile since I've worked on this story, so I'm hoping I managed to capture everything just right.

Thanks for sticking by me! Until next time, dear readers.


	17. Eyes Are the Windows to the Soul

**A/N:** Happy holidays to all! I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas (or whatever other holiday you celebrate; or, if you don't celebrate at all… I hope you had a wonderful December 25!) 2013 is right around the corner and I hope it brings magical and wonderful things for you all. I worked hard to get this chapter out before the new year as a sort of present for all of you that have been reading this story diligently, even throughout my lack of updates. Thank you for believing in this story throughout the past year, and thank you to all who have reviewed or given me some kind of feedback – or even to those who simply just read the story. I appreciate you all more than you know! Enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 16 – Eyes Are the Windows to the Soul**

"Why did you wait until _now_ to contact us?!"

Aunt Cissy is in a rage, pacing the length of my bed and impeding Madam Pomfrey's attempts to give me a dose of Nutrient Replenisher. "Mrs. Malfoy, please," the nurse implores, fixing my aunt with a stern look. "I personally sent an owl to your home yesterday morning. Why it did not arrive until _this_ morning, I do not know. Now, please, if you could have a _seat_ while waiting for the Headmaster, I can continue tending to your niece."

Aunt Cissy scowls and takes a seat on the bed next to mine, crossing her arms. Lyra plops next to her and puts her arm around her shoulders. "Really, Mother, you're overreacting," Draco drawls from his spot on my other side. Madam Pomfrey casts him an irritated glance; he's actually sitting _on_ my bed, and his proximity is too much for her liking. "Ara's fine, it's not as if she's on her deathbed."

"She could well have been!" Aunt Cissy snaps, hugging Lyra to her. "This isn't something to take lightly, Draco!"

"Yeah, Drakey," Carina agrees, seating herself on Aunt Cissy's other side. "I bet you weren't worried at _all_ when she was fainting all over you in class."

I swallow the second dose of Nutrient Replenisher that Madam Pomfrey has handed me and grimace – it tastes bitter and unpleasant, but refusing to take it is not worth the ensuing argument with the Hogwarts nurse. I'm feeling significantly better than yesterday, but I'm still unable to keep any solid food down, and my skin is unnaturally pale and bruised in places, particularly underneath my eyes. The purple bags make me look like some sort of zombie. Aunt Cissy is unconvinced that I only look much worse than I feel and has been raising hell since she arrived with my uncle and sister half an hour ago, during afternoon break. "Professor Sprout whipped out the antidote straight away," Draco retorts, glaring at my sister. "You don't know anything, Car, I wasn't worried in the slightest!"

I smile and, under cover of my blankets so that nobody will see, snake my fingers through his. "Sure you weren't," I whisper teasingly, my voice scratching against my throat. Draco grins back and squeezes my hand tightly.

"Don't strain your voice, Ara!" Aunt Cissy exclaims, worry etched into her face. "You need to rest, my love –"

"It would be easier for her to do that, Mrs. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey interrupts coolly, measuring out a third vial of potion, "If you could calm down and stop badgering everyone in this hospital wing!"

I'm fairly certain that Madam Pomfrey is the only person who can get away with constantly telling people off or ordering them to shut up – besides, perhaps, Professor McGonagall. She's stern, inflexible, and doesn't stand for anyone's nonsense. Aunt Cissy, however, is equally as stubborn; she opens her mouth furiously to reply: "How _dare_ you –"

"Narcissa, please. Poppy has asked you several times to calm down now, and I shall have to ask you to wait outside if you cannot do so."

We all look over. Dumbledore is striding through the doorway, accompanied by Professor Snape and Uncle Lucius. Aunt Cissy jumps to her feet. "Headmaster, I apologize, but Ara is ill –"

"A regrettable circumstance," Dumbledore replies calmly, his blue eyes twinkling. "As Severus and I have just explained to Lucius, however, all possible measures were taken to prevent the spread of the venom to her organs, and thankfully, Professor Sprout's quick actions were able to save Ara's life."

"I have suggested to the Headmaster," Uncle Lucius interjects coldly, "That perhaps such dangerous plants should not be studied by fifth years."

"Akarata plants are not dangerous," Snape says quietly, "If they are handled correctly. I explained this to Miss Lestrange last night. She did not ensure that her skin was properly covered before coming into contact with the plant. I am certain she will not make the same mistake in the future."

All heads swivel towards me. "No," I agree. "I definitely won't, sir." I know what he's doing; he's still angry with me from last night, so he's trying to make me look incompetent in front of my family and Dumbledore. I don't care. He can't continue to question me while everyone is still here – my pride is a small price to pay in order to keep him out of the mass of thoughts raging in my brain.

Aunt Cissy places her hands on her hips. She's at least a foot shorter than the three men in the room, but she still appears formidable. "I am still unhappy, Headmaster, that it took so long to inform Lucius and I of Ara's condition! I don't understand why an owl wasn't sent to us immediately!"

"I have already told you, Mrs. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey says heatedly, "That I sent an owl to your home yesterday morning. Wiltshire isn't exactly right around the corner; perhaps _that_ is why it took longer to arrive!"

Aunt Cissy rounds on the nurse, her expression livid. "This is _my niece_ we are talking about, not some dirty Mudblood, I expect to be contacted the _second_ something like this happens to _any_ of my children!"

"Narcissa!" Dumbledore cuts across her, his tone firm. "I must ask you to refrain from using such language in front of me. As I have stated before, if you cannot contain yourself, I would prefer that you wait outside."

He stares at Aunt Cissy expectantly. She glares at him for a moment, silently fuming, but finally concedes to settle back down between my sisters. They each take one of her hands in their own, gripping tightly.

"I understand that you are upset, Narcissa," Dumbledore goes on graciously, "And your feelings are, of course, entirely justified. I will not, however, have you berating my staff when they are merely trying to help your niece."

"Now, Dumbledore –" Uncle Lucius begins angrily, but Dumbledore holds up a hand to silence him.

"The same goes for you, Lucius. Severus and I have a much more important matter that we need to discuss with you, pertaining to Ara's health."

I perk up, studying Dumbledore suspiciously. I've been poisoned, there's no doubt about it. What more is there to discuss?

"Miss Lestrange is not eating properly," Snape begins, locking eyes with me. "I have been observing her; she merely picks at her meals. She also appears to be lacking a sufficient amount of sleep. These are – as I also explained to her last night – key factors in the akarata venom affecting her more powerfully than it normally would."

Lyra narrows her eyes at me. "You told me you were fine!" she accuses. "You've been hacking your head off for days; I should have made you see Madam Pomfrey before any of this happened!"

"I _am_ fine!" I say crossly. Inwardly, I am seething: I can't believe Snape is going so far as to address this issue with my family. "I had a cold, for Merlin's sake! It happens to everyone! I don't see what the big deal is!"

"You know what the big deal is, Miss Lestrange," Snape says quietly.

Lyra glances at him in confusion; she is still the only one – apart from Dumbledore – who has no idea that the Dark Lord had called a meeting with me. "Yes," I say slowly, glaring daggers at Snape. I've never felt more hatred for a human being than I do for him in this moment. It's absolutely unnecessary to drag my family into my personal life; Aunt Cissy worries enough about me and the unknown (to her) nature of the meeting I had with the Dark Lord. "The O.W.L.s have just been stressing me out." I aim my next words toward the Headmaster. "I promise I'll start taking better care of myself, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiles gently. "Everyone in this room is simply concerned for your welfare, Miss Lestrange," he says. There is something mysterious about his gaze: I feel as if I've been made completely transparent, and suddenly, I'm almost certain that Lyra is the only ignorant one in this room. "I trust that you shall live up to your word. You're close to halfway through one of the most difficult years at Hogwarts, and permitting your health to decline will not be doing yourself any favors." He pauses, still surveying me with his penetrating gaze. "And please remember, Miss Lestrange – anything that you need, day or night – Professor Snape and I are both here, ready and willing to assist you."

He knows. "Yes, sir," I respond, crushing Draco's hand within my own. "I'll remember that."

* * *

"Carina's asked me to be her chief bridesmaid."

It's nearly curfew. Uncle Lucius, Aunt Cissy, and Carina had departed for the manor hours ago, and Draco and Lyra had left to attend the rest of their classes. Draco had stopped by after our last class to bring my books and assignments, and Lyra had come by again after dinner. "Oh, and I saved you this," Lyra goes on, producing a piece of pound cake partially wrapped in a napkin from her bag. "I doubt Madam Pomfrey's letting you have anything good in here."

I take the cake and set it on the stand next to my bed. "Thanks, but I can't eat it, remember?"

Lyra sighs, blowing a few strands of hair out of her dark eyes. "Damn, I'm sorry, I forgot. You still can't keep anything down?"

I stare wistfully at the cake. "No." I force myself to look away and change the subject. "What are you going on about? Carina's asked you to be chief bridesmaid?"

"Oh… er, yeah." Lyra lowers her gaze and begins to trace the pattern of my bedspread. "She asked me today before they left. You're not upset, are you?"

I shrug. "No. Not really." And I'm not. Carina and Lyra have an odd relationship. Lyra and I are close, of course, but Carina has easily always been the one that we've both looked up to. In many ways, Lyra's bond with her is similar to the one I share with Draco – they constantly argue, and Carina may not agree with Lyra's views, but underneath it all, they are connected by something beyond either of their understanding. "I'm happy for you, Lyra, chief bridesmaid is a real honor."

Lyra sighs again, this time with relief. "I'm surprised she asked me," she admits. "We haven't exactly gotten along since her birthday party. And then this whole business with combining _my_ birthday party with her engagement party… well, you know."

I reach for Lyra's wandering hand and close my fingers around it tightly. "I know," I say quietly. "But I told you, Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius love you. Carina loves you, even if she doesn't always know how to show it. This proves it, doesn't it?"

Lyra doesn't answer right away. "I'm not sure," she says finally. "She's still changed. She's more callous, you know she is, and she's become secretive – she mentioned her new job at the Ministry, but she wouldn't tell me exactly what it is she does."

My jaw drops open in shock. "You mean she actually _does_ have a job at the Ministry? Aunt Cissy wasn't lying?"

Lyra chuckles. "Apparently not! Believe me, I was just as astonished as you are."

Interesting. "It can't be too exciting, then, if she won't even tell you what it is," I reason. "Maybe she's with the Magical Maintenance Department, sorting out things like overflowing toilets and exploding garbage bins."

Lyra laughs even harder. "Or maybe she's in one of the Muggle departments, dealing with them all day; can you imagine how much she'd despise that?"

We both burst into fresh fits of laughter. Instantly, the door to Madam Pomfrey's office snaps open. "Just what is going on out here?" the nurse demands, striding towards us. "I wasn't aware that a pack of hyenas had entered the hospital wing!"

At her words, we lose any semblance of composure still remaining in our bodies. "All right, Miss Lestrange, that is quite enough!" Madam Pomfrey says to Lyra, folding her arms across her chest. "You're close to being out after hours, it's time for you to get back to your common room! Your sister needs her rest." Her sharp eyes fall on the pound cake. "And what, may I ask, is this?" She reaches for it quickly, as if I'm going to try and stop her.

"A pound cake," I reply, as Lyra gets to her feet and slings her bag over her shoulder. "Lyra was afraid the food in here isn't up to scratch."

Madam Pomfrey rolls her eyes and withdraws her wand from her pocket. "For heaven's sake, girl, I hope you weren't trying to eat this," she admonishes, Vanishing it with one swift motion. "Do you want to be sick to your stomach all night?"

"Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey, I didn't take a single bite," I promise. "I was going to offer it to you, in fact."

"Oh, hush," Madam Pomfrey scolds, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be back in a moment with your evening doses. Say goodnight to your sister, Miss Lestrange, and be quick about it before you're caught wandering the corridors after dark." She disappears down the ward and back into her office.

Lyra shakes her head. "She's so strict! Can't even have a good laugh without her swooping down on you like you've done something wrong."

"Oh, come on, she's not that bad," I counter. I honestly like Madam Pomfrey. I've had extended stays in the hospital wing on two other occasions: once in my first year, when Pansy tricked me into eating a plateful of doxy eggs, and once in my third year, when I contracted Vanishing Sickness and had to be temporarily transferred to St. Mungo's for treatment after the case proved too severe for Madam Pomfrey to handle on her own. Each time she's been firm, unyielding, but I've always been able to make her laugh, and she finds my sarcastic nature amusing, no matter what she says to the contrary. "You just have to get to know her."

Lyra's expression is skeptical. She's less prone to diseases and accidents than I am; I don't think she's ever had to come to the hospital wing once in her seven years at Hogwarts. "If you say so," she says, leaning down to capture me in a hug. "Get some sleep, Ara. I'll come visit again tomorrow."

* * *

November faded into December, bringing a thick blanket of snow to the grounds and the hope of Christmas spirit to the castle. Lyra loved the holidays; aside from her birthday, Christmas was one of her favorite times during the season. She wasn't a prefect like Carina had been – or how Draco currently was – so she didn't have to help with the decoration of the castle, but she did enjoy decorating her dorm room with Ariane and Eleanor. It was lucky the three of them were close friends. They were the only female Slytherins in their year, and each December they upheld their tradition of decorating their dormitory and leaving each other Christmas presents before departing for break.

This year, however, there was something else occupying a space in her mind: Dumbledore's Army had been the highlight of Lyra's life at Hogwarts over the past few months. She never told Eleanor or Ariane where she was sneaking off to every so often – in fact, as far as she knew, the only Slytherins who were aware of the D.A. were Ara, Draco, Cassie, and Madeleine. She was lucky, she supposed, that none of them had spilled the beans about the D.A. to Umbridge. Then again, none of them knew that any meetings other than the one in the Hog's Head had taken place – except for Ara, perhaps. Her sister was much more perceptive than she seemed. In any case, she found it best not to discuss her involvement with the D.A. with anyone. It wasn't safe, and as the only Slytherin in the group, the other D.A. members certainly weren't teeming with trust for her. She wasn't going to give them any other reasons to validate that sentiment, especially if it led to Umbridge or some other authority figure catching the D.A.

"Okay," Harry said, breaking into Lyra's thoughts. It was the last D.A. meeting before the holidays; everyone had been chattering excitedly about their vacation plans, but they quickly fell silent at the sound of Harry's voice. "I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far, because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break –"

"We're not doing anything new?" complained Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come…"

"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred Weasley interrupted loudly, glaring at Smith.

Lyra, along with a few others, burst into laughter. Out of everyone in the group, Smith disliked her the most, so anything that made him look like an idiot was fine with her. _Lousy git_, she thought, unintentionally catching Fred's gaze as she did so. He grinned at her and winked. Another giggle escaped her lips – one that, strangely, had nothing to do with Smith's stupidity.

"We can practice in pairs," Harry went on. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again."

The members began to split off into their usual pairs. Lyra scanned the room for Luna Lovegood, the odd girl from Ravenclaw that she'd been partnered with since the first D.A. meeting. She'd been lucky that Luna had offered to pair up with her; all of the other Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors knew each other and had established partnerships before the meeting had even begun. The only option left had been Neville Longbottom, and after what her dear _mother_ had done to his parents, she felt uncomfortable even inhabiting the same castle as him. "Hey, Luna," Lyra greeted as she spotted Luna's blonde head pushing past Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown toward her.

"Hello, Lyra," Luna responded cheerily, coming to a stop next to Lyra and smoothing the front of her robes. She then glanced up at the ceiling, a slight frown on her face. "Ah, Harry missed a bit of mistletoe! I thought I felt a nargle nipping at my ear…"

Lyra looked up too, staring curiously at the clump of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. "Nargles?" she asked, confused. She'd never heard of a nargle – then again, she'd never heard of half of the things that Luna often talked about. "What are those?"

"Oh, fascinating creatures," Luna replied dreamily, her blue eyes wide. "Daddy dedicates an article to them every month; they're thieves, you know –"

"Oy, Luna!"

Lyra looked over. Fred was coming towards them, carefully navigating his way through the pairs that had already begun practicing the Impediment Jinx. "Hey, Luna," he repeated upon reaching them, "Would you mind working with Ginny today? George doesn't believe that I'm better at casting jinxes than the smartest girl in our year." He gestured towards Lyra. "Sorry, Luna, I've got five Galleons and my reputation on the line here."

Luna smiled. "I like Ginny," she said, offering nothing more as she wandered away in search of the only Weasley girl. Lyra watched her go, her mind still reeling with their unfinished conversation about nargles. Nargles… Luna was incredibly odd. Odd, but endearing. She'd never met anyone like her.

Fred turned to her. "So, Lestrange, you ready to go down?" he teased, reaching into his pocket for his wand.

Lyra crossed her arms. "Why are you working with me?" she asked, getting straight to the point. She'd never had a problem with any of the Weasleys, but their families hated one another on principle, and she had rarely spoken to Fred during any of the D.A. meetings (or even any of the classes they'd had together during their years at Hogwarts.) She couldn't see why he would suddenly be itching to practice with her now.

Fred grinned again. "I told you, George reckons you'll hand me my ass on a silver platter," he said, brandishing his wand around in an exaggerated, extravagant manner. "I can't just let that go, can I?"

Lyra drew her own wand. "I was never under the impression that you particularly cared about what anyone thought," she replied, tapping the tip against the palm of her hand. "You barely know me, and I'm sure that you like me just as much as that idiot Smith does."

"On the contrary, I feel rather bad about how that git's treated you," Fred countered. "We're not all like that – I _did_ stick up for you at the Hog's Head, remember? I'm all for getting chummy with the Slytherins, especially one as cute as you."

Lyra blushed. "Get out of it," she spat, trying to hide her embarrassment with disgust. "I'm not stupid; did George bet you five Galleons to say _that_, too?"

Fred frowned. "No," he answered. "I was being sincere."

Lyra snorted in disbelief. This absolutely could not be happening right now. "Let's just practice, please," she said, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and praying that he would just let the subject drop.

Fred crossed his arms. "How about we make a bet, then?" he proposed. "If I can perform the jinx better than you, you go out on one date with me. If you win, I'll leave you alone. Sound fair?"

Lyra stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Serious as a nice case of dragon pox, my lady," George answered, appearing at Fred's side. Ginny and Luna trailed behind him, Ginny smirking, Luna humming to herself and appearing unaware of her surroundings. "You'd better say yes, Fred's heart can't take another rejection." He clapped his twin on the back.

Lyra threw her arms up. "Rejection? What are you talking about? I've never even spoken to him!"

"Did you forget just now?" George pointed out. "He told you that you were cute and you reacted as if he'd been talking about the giant squid!"

Fred sighed. "Listen, mate, I sent Luna away for some _privacy_, not so the three of you could come back over here and ruin my chances!"

George shrugged. "You looked like you needed a little help, Freddie, what can I say?"

"_Help?_ Seriously, George, I asked Angelina to the Yule Ball with no problem –"

Lyra watched them bicker good-naturedly with one another, unsure if they were being truthful or if they were simply attempting to play some kind of horrible joke on her. She was a _Slytherin_, and she was certain that the Weasleys had been brought up to despise her family. It disturbed her to know that Fred had apparently had his eye on her for awhile; she had no idea _why_ he would like her, and betting on whether or not she would accept his "date" proposal seemed exactly like something the facetious Weasley twins would do. "Shut up, both of you," Lyra interjected, glaring at them. "You think I'm such an idiot, don't you, that I'll believe anything you tell me? That just because we're fighting for the same thing, I'll automatically trust that whatever you say to me is the truth? Think again. I know that most of the people in this group don't like me, and that even more of them don't trust me. So excuse me if I'm not willing to fall for some childish joke that will only make me look stupid!"

"Fred and George wouldn't do that!" Ginny snapped back, crossing her arms and returning Lyra's glare with a defiant one of her own.

"Actually, it does sound rather amusing," George remarked casually.

"All right, well, not to someone they liked, at least," Ginny amended, tossing her flaming red hair over her shoulder.

George pretended to look deep in thought. "Well, even then, I think I'd still find it humorous, I mean, I like Ron, but I enjoy taking the mickey out of him every now and then –"

"Ignore them, Lyra, and don't get your knickers in a twist," Fred interrupted, sending his brother and sister an annoyed look. Luna still hadn't commented on the conversation – she was now staring idly around the room, seemingly observing the other groups at work. "I _admire_ your bravery, that's the whole point. It takes a lot of guts to do what you did, no denying it. I like a woman who knows what she wants and will go against the odds to get it. It's incredibly sexy."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "You're a complete pig. I'll be taking Luna back now – come on, Luna, let's practice, please."

Luna turned back to them at the sound of her name, appearing surprised – as she usually did, no matter what the circumstance – to see the three Weasleys and Lyra staring at her. "Oh, Fred fancies you, Lyra," she said, her voice taking on a dream-like quality. "I rather think you'd make a good match. Brown is a warm, simple, and reliable color."

George began to laugh but quickly stifled it with a loud cough. "Brown, Luna? I was raised to believe that Fred's hair is red, but then again, what do I know?"

"Eyes," Luna said slowly, as if she were speaking to a group of toddlers. "Lyra and Fred both have brown eyes. Fred's are lighter, Lyra's are darker, like day and night. They complement one another. Daddy believes that you can learn a person's deepest secrets just by looking into their eyes."

"Remind me to wear a blindfold around you, then," George muttered.

"It's a very common study," Luna went on, as if George hadn't even spoken. "Daddy won't let anyone write for his magazine if he doesn't trust their eyes."

"Do glasses make a difference?" Fred inquired. "They can send a distorted reflection onto your pupils, you know. Better watch out, Ginny, I don't think you can trust Harry's eyes."

"What about my eyes?"

Ginny's face turned as red as her hair. "Oh, nothing, Harry, we were just talking about what a lovely shade of green they are," George said airily to Harry, who had come up behind them to observe everyone's progress with the Impediment Jinx. "Have you ever considered writing for _The Quibbler?_"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Nothing, Harry, nothing," Lyra hurried to intervene, hoping to save Ginny some obvious embarrassment, even though the girl had just snapped at her moments ago. "It was a ridiculous conversation that's ending _now_." She grabbed Luna's hand and led her away.

Fred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Ah, that's a tough one, Freddie," George comforted, clapping his twin on the back once more. "Don't worry, though, I'm sure Moaning Myrtle's still available."

Harry glanced from Fred to George. "What's going on?"

"Fred just got shot down," George explained, an expression of fake sympathy plastered on his face.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "By Lyra? _Lyra Lestrange?_"

"Yeah, I told him he was hacked off, too," George replied.

"Not hacked off, and I'm not giving up," Fred said, studying Lyra with determination. She was now halfway across the room, waiting for Luna to unfreeze from the Impediment Jinx and diligently avoiding glancing in his direction. "She's worth it, George. I'm telling you, I've got a feeling about that one."

George grinned. "Someone who knows what he wants and will go against the odds to get it? So _incredibly_ sexy. I like that in a man."

* * *

Thanks again for reading! I hope you all have a happy new year!


	18. Premonitions and Persistence

**A/N: **I just want to give a quick shout out to **ruler of dragons** for her lovely reviews and for some creative ideas she's given me. I feel so inspired now and have great plans for upcoming chapters, so I hope you're all as excited about it as I am!

Well, here we go. An almost completely Lyra-centric chapter. Hopefully you're all still enjoying getting glimpses in the lives of all three sisters. I have too much fun writing about all of them to stick with just one :P

Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

And P.S., please excuse any typos or misspellings you may find. I'm finishing this up after a very long work day and several days of being sick (colds suck…), so I haven't been at my best grammar-wise. Otherwise, enjoy!

**Chapter 17** **– Premonitions and Persistence**

"Why did you tell Fred Weasley when my birthday is?!"

I look up from my Transfiguration notes. "What are you talking about?" I ask Lyra, who is glaring at me with her hands on her hips. "I don't even talk to Fred Weasley."

Lyra makes an impatient hissing noise and falls into the armchair across from me. "How did he find out when it is, then?"

I shrug. "How would I know?" It's been two days since Lyra's told me that Fred Weasley fancies her, and she hasn't shut up about it since. "Maybe somebody else told him. I'm not the only one that knows when your birthday is, you know."

Lyra frowns. "Why can't he just leave me alone?"

I grab my bag and begin to rifle through it for my Transfiguration book. "I'm not sure, Lyra," I respond, locating the book and pulling it out. There's only one day left until break and I've been racing all night to finish this last essay for Professor McGonagall – it's nearly one in the morning and my patience is wearing thin. "Maybe you should just give him a chance."

Lyra stares at me incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, I am. Can you imagine what would happen if you started dating a Weasley? Aunt Cissy, Uncle Lucius, Draco, and Carina would all murder you. I probably would too, in fact."

Lyra wrinkles her nose. "Well, luckily for you, I have no interest in dating him," she says coolly.

"Well, thank Merlin," I reply sarcastically, taking my quill and editing one of the points I've already established in my essay. "It's late. Why are you still up?" Hopefully I can convince her to go to bed relatively soon and leave me in peace.

Lyra crosses her legs and settles back into the armchair. "I was studying for an Astronomy quiz with some of the other seventh years," she answers. "You didn't see us in the corner over there? I've been there practically all evening."

I don't recall seeing her since dinner; I've been too involved with my essay for the past few hours. "No, sorry," I say, twirling my ponytail around my finger. "I guess I just got caught up in what I was doing."

Lyra scoffs. "You're one to talk," she says. "Remember how you promised you'd start taking better care of yourself? Why are _you_ up so late?"

I roll my eyes again. I've been out of the hospital wing for nearly a month and have been taking – in my opinion, at least – the utmost care of my physical and mental states. "I've been eating at every meal and I haven't once stayed up past midnight – tomorrow's the last day before break, Lyra, and I really need to finish this essay. Just cut me some slack." I don't mention that I've spoken to Snape a few times, too, in regards to my feelings about the Dark Lord. It was one of his "conditions" – he told me that on my last day in the hospital wing, just before I was released – but I've been coping with things a lot better since doing so.

"Hey, Are Bear!"

Lyra and I look up, along with the five or six other students that are still milling about the common room. "Hey, Cass, give it a rest!" Anthony Abarca calls, his tone slightly irritated. He's sitting with two other seventh years, and I assume this is the group with whom Lyra has been studying. "Some of us still have work to do."

Cassie ignores him and charges down the steps that lead to the girls' dormitories, her red curls flouncing against her back. She's pulled a dressing gown over her pajamas. For as long as I've known her, Cassie has never worn a proper nightgown. She claims she finds pajamas to be "liberating." "Your cat is constricting my nostrils," she says, and up close I detect the slight nasal quality in her voice. "Please get him away from me." She drops Orion into my lap. I hadn't even noticed him cradled in her arms. Orion meows in irritation, wrapping his tail around my wrist and glaring at Cassie with his yellow eyes.

I stroke him gently behind the ears. "Sorry, Cass," I apologize, setting my quill down and adjusting Orion in my lap. "I didn't realize he'd gotten into our dormitory." By day, Orion wanders the castle, but at night, he normally sleeps with Lyra. Cassie is allergic to cats and the few times I've allowed Orion in overnight, she's woken up with a stuffy nose and a less than pleasant attitude. "Don't worry, I'll give him to Lyra before I come to bed."

Cassie folds her arms across her chest. "It's all right," she replies, in a tone that suggests just the opposite. I know she's not upset with me. She's tired, irritable, and simply wants to get through tomorrow and leave for holiday break. "I'm going back to bed." She turns and heads back up the stairs.

I stand up. "I think he's hungry," I say to Lyra, making my way toward the damp stretch of wall that serves as the entrance to our common room. Carina and Lyra both consider Orion _their_ cat – Carina because she's the eldest, and Lyra because he sleeps with her every night at school – but Orion prefers me to either of them. I can read his expressions without any difficulty. "I'll let him out for a bit, see if he can go scrap something from the kitchens."

"You're going to leave him loose in the castle all night?" Lyra asks crossly.

I switch Orion to one arm so I can coax the wall to open. "Of course not," I respond as the brick melts away. I don't know why she's asked such an idiotic question; we often let Orion out of the common room and simply wait for him to appear outside the entrance when he's ready to return. "I'll be up for awhile working on this essay, I'll check back for him in awhile – bloody hell!"

Lyra uncrosses her legs and peers around with limited interest. "What is it? What's going on, Ara?"

Orion jumps from my grasp and begins nuzzling the legs of the redhead sitting against the opposite wall.

Lyra isn't going to like this.

* * *

Fred Weasley had to be one of the most annoying and persistent people that she'd ever met. "Can you quit stalking me?" Lyra asked him as she climbed out of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The wall immediately melded back together, leaving no trace of its hidden identity. "I only came out because my sister told me you were threatening to sleep here. Honestly, Weasley, what's wrong with you? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Fred got to his feet, grinning stupidly. "I told you, Lestrange, I don't give up," he said, straightening his dressing gown.

That much, Lyra knew, was true. The D.A. meeting had been on Tuesday evening. The very next morning, Fred had cornered her after breakfast, pleading with her to give him a chance. He'd tried again after lunch, to no avail, and then had brought her flowers the next day – Thursday, the current day – in their N.E.W.T. Transfiguration class (as an "early birthday present," he'd claimed.) He had also sent her a charmed "note" at dinner – it flew over to the Slytherin table in the form of a dove – and now here he was, outside her common room at nearly one in the morning, still going on with his antics. "You are absolutely ridiculous," she told him, the irritation evident in her voice. "You're not going to change my mind, so please, just leave me alone."

"Ah, well, there's where we disagree," Fred replied genially, as if they were merely in class having a discussion on the most effective wand movement to Transfigure an object. "Come on, Lyra, just go on _one_ date with me. If you completely hate it and want to _Crucio_ me by the end of the night, I'll never bother you again. You know I'm just going to bug you until you agree, so you might as well save yourself an alarmingly large amount of grief and let me take you out."

Lyra glared at him, her dark eyes flashing. "Have you considered what your family will think?" she hissed, his use of the word _Crucio_ striking something within her. She was the daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. There was no way the Weasley family would accept her dating one of their children; she was going to have a tough enough time proving her worth to the entire Order. "We're assumed _enemies_, Weasley. They'll disown you!"

Fred laughed gaily. "Now you're reaching, Lyra. You're a member of the D.A. If I thought you were untrustworthy or on the side of old Voldy pants, do you think I'd waste my time asking you out? And I could give a Knut less what my family – or anyone, really – thinks. You pointed that out yourself, remember?"

Lyra sighed loudly, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "You are _impossible_," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. "If it makes you leave me alone, then fine, I'll go out with you. _One_ date, that's it. Don't get too attached and _don't_ expect it to happen again." If this was the only way she could get Fred Weasley to stop harassing her, then she'd have to swallow her pride and go through with it. It had been less than three days and he was already driving her insane; she didn't think she could take even another minute of it.

Fred's face lit up like a boy on Christmas – _in fact, I'm probably giving him the best Christmas present ever,_ Lyra grumbled inwardly, disgusted at the thought. "Well, that was certainly easier than I thought it would be," Fred said, that stupid smile still plastered to his face. "I was going to break out the Self-Spelling Fireworks next, set off a message in the sky during afternoon break – "

"Weasley! Miss Lestrange! _What on earth are you doing awake in the corridors at one o'clock in the morning?_"

Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin. Professor McGonagall had rounded the corner and was speeding towards them, her tartan dressing gown swaying around her ankles. "Top of the morning to you, Professor McGonagall!" Fred responded cheerfully in a horrible Irish accent, waving to the Transfiguration professor as if nothing was amiss. Lyra didn't know how he could maintain such a jovial face; her heart was racing like mad at Professor McGonagall's furious expression. "Lyra and I were just discussing the Transfiguration lesson from this morning; you see, I find I work better late at night and in a cooler atmosphere, the air stimulates your brain like nothing else can – "

"Save it, Weasley, we haven't the time right now," Professor McGonagall cut across him. Lyra studied her a bit more closely: she'd misinterpreted the look on the professor's face. It was one of anxiety and urgency, not anger. "In fact, I've come to fetch the both of you; it's most convenient that I found you together. Your father has been attacked, Weasley."

Fred's jaw dropped. "What? What do you mean, _attacked?_ Is he okay? What happened? What – ?"

"I'm not sure, Weasley, and it's not safe to explain now, we shall talk when we get back to Professor Dumbledore's office," McGonagall answered, her expression now tight and inscrutable. "Come along, now, we still have to wake your brother and sister." She began to walk briskly up the corridor, Fred on her heels. Lyra hovered near the wall, twirling a lock of chestnut hair around her finger, unsure of whether she was actually supposed to accompany them or just duck back into the common room like nothing had happened.

"Miss Lestrange, _are you deaf?_ Quit lollygagging about and come along this instant!"

Well, that answered that question.

* * *

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Professor Dumbledore said, glancing around at each of the Weasley children in turn. Lyra shuffled in her seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Across from her, Harry Potter glowered at his feet, his head in his hands. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius' house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"Sirius?" Lyra interrupted, perking up at the name. "Sirius _Black?_"

Ginny glanced over at her. "You have a problem with that?" She asked nastily. "What are you even doing here?"

"Sirius will be perfectly willing to accommodate you, too, Miss Lestrange," Dumbledore said calmly, paying no heed to Ginny's outburst. "In fact, there is something I would like for you to give to him." He walked quickly over to his desk and pointed his wand at a piece of parchment. It immediately sprang into the air and furled itself into a tight roll. "Everything he needs to know will be in there," Dumbledore said, levitating the roll over to Lyra. "And I have something for you, too."

"For me?" Lyra repeated, surprised, catching the letter in her left hand. She stuffed it into the pocket of her dressing gown.

"Yes, for you," Dumbledore affirmed, now pocketing his wand. He picked up his quill and began to scribble furiously on another sheet of parchment. "Memorize this as quickly as you can, please, Miss Lestrange," he said, handing it to her. Lyra looked down at it and read:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix _

_may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

"Have you memorized it?" Dumbledore asked, studying her intently.

Lyra nodded.

"Excellent." Dumbledore took the parchment from her and tossed it into the fire burning in the grate adjacent to his desk. "Keep it in mind, Miss Lestrange, as you are traveling. It will be essential to do so, so that you may enter Grimmauld Place."

"What exactly – ?" Lyra began, but Fred cut across her: "How're we going? Floo powder?"

"No," Dumbledore replied. "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." He pointed at an old, battered kettle lying on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back. I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you."

Phineas Nigellus. He was an ancestor of hers, an old Headmaster of Hogwarts. Lyra chewed on her nail, confused beyond belief. What was going on? Why did she need to be here? Ara was probably worrying about where she'd wandered off to. And what did Phineas Nigellus have to do with anything? How could he be here? He'd been dead for years and years. Nothing was making any sense.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash. A lone, golden phoenix feather appeared, floating gently from the ceiling to the floor.

"It is Fawkes' warning," Dumbledore said, reaching a hand out to catch the feather. "She must know you're out of your beds. Minerva, go and head her off… tell her any story…."

Professor McGonagall nodded and rushed off.

"He says he'll be delighted."

Lyra started at the sound of a bored, cool voice coming from behind Dumbledore. She peered around the Headmaster. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus was staring at them all, his arms crossed. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in houseguests…" His beady eyes locked onto Lyra. "Ah, it's you again, is it? A rather strange group for you to be traveling with, is it not, my young Slytherin friend?"

"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore said sharply. Lyra cursed herself for being so stupid; of course the real Phineas Nigellus wasn't here, it was only his portrait, the one she'd met during her last trip to Dumbledore's office. "Come here, and quickly, before anyone else joins us."

Lyra got to her feet and joined the others as they gathered around Dumbledore's desk. "You have all used a Portkey before?" Dumbledore asked. Everyone but Lyra nodded. Her family had never had a need for one, but she knew the theory behind them. She reached forward to place a finger on the kettle, inadvertently brushing Fred's hand as she did so. She avoided his eyes, not wanting to see the look of satisfaction she was sure she'd find in them, despite his current state. "Good. On the count of three then… and remember, Miss Lestrange, what you've memorized… concentrate on it… one… two… three."

Lyra was not at all prepared for the sensation that followed: there was a powerful jerk behind her navel, as if someone was trying to squeeze the wind out of her. Her automatic response was to try and lift her finger from the kettle, to disengage herself from this madness… but it was as if her finger was glued to the kettle by some invisible force; she was flying wildly through the air, banging into George and Fred on either side of her, everything was swirling around her in a blur of color, and still, somehow, she managed to inwardly chant _number twelve, Grimmauld Place… number twelve, Grimmauld Place…_

It was over as soon as it began. She hit the ground with such force that she toppled over, but she wasn't the only one: Harry had fallen to his knees and Ginny, looking windswept, was sitting on her backside, panting. A voice reached her ears, high and reedy and oddly familiar to that of the house elves at Malfoy Manor: "Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father's dying…?"

"OUT!"

Lyra quickly got to her feet and observed her surroundings. She was in a kitchen, though it was not the friendliest kitchen she'd ever seen: the room was dusty, gloomy, illuminated only by a fire blazing in the grate and a solitary candle sitting on the wooden table. It didn't appear as if it were used often; or if it was, its upkeep was obviously not a priority. The house elf who had initially spoken was disappearing through a doorway, though he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted her. "What's going on?" A man – the one who had yelled – asked anxiously, rushing towards them and reaching down to help Ginny stand. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured – "

"Can it be true? Is miss Kreacher's mistress?"

Every head in the room turned to the house elf. He was a most pathetic sight, definitely not like the house elves at Malfoy Manor, Lyra decided, with his ragged, soiled loincloth and papery skin. He was probably a fair bit older than Mally and Tippy as well, though perhaps not quite as old as Dover. "Miss looks just like Kreacher's mistress," the elf went on, stretching a shriveled finger towards Lyra. "Beautiful mistress, oh yes, Kreacher would much rather serve her, much rather serve her than his mistress' horrible son, horrible blood traitor son who broke mistress' heart –"

"OUT!" Sirius Black roared again, and this time the house elf obeyed, slinking out of the room and grumbling to himself. For the first time in her life, Lyra came face to face with her aunt's cousin; her cousin, too, she realized: his hair was dark and wild, long, his face anxious and unshaven. He hadn't yet changed into his night things, and there was an unpleasant smell about him, like stale firewhisky. But what she really noticed were his eyes: they were dark too, as dark as hers, and while they were currently staring at her with resentment and contempt, she could see that there was something more there. She didn't know what it was, but she could feel it – what lived inside of him, lived in her.

"It's you."

Lyra hadn't known it was possible to pour such hatred into two simple words. Before she could even process what was going on, Black had drawn his wand and was gesturing for the Weasleys and Harry to get behind him. "Get out of my house," he hissed, gripping his wand tightly. "I swear on my life, Bella, get out of my house or I'll kill you right now – "

"I'm not Bellatrix!" Lyra hurried to explain, holding her hands up in front of her.

"Yeah, Sirius, drop it," Fred snarled. Lyra didn't know if he was saying that in her defense or because he just wanted news about his father, but either way, she was thankful somebody spoke up for her. "Dumbledore sent Lyra with us."

Black didn't budge. "Lyra?" he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "She… looks almost exactly like Bella."

Lyra chuckled nervously. "I get that a lot. You should see Ara, though, she's pretty much an exact replica."

Nobody spoke. Harry, Ron, George, Fred, and Ginny remained huddled together, watching the scene in silence. Black kept his wand trained on Lyra, studying her from head to toe. "I don't want you here," he said finally, the loathing clear in his voice. "I don't care what Dumbledore says about you. Get out of my house and be thankful I don't take a leaf out of your lovely _mother's_ book and curse you into insanity."

Ginny's hands flew to her mouth as if she might be sick. The boys remained silent, their eyes wide. Lyra froze, her face burning as if he had physically slapped her, but she steeled her nerves. "I'm supposed to give you something from Dumbledore," she murmured, willing herself to remain calm as she reached into her pocket.

"I don't want anything you have to give me," Black retorted. "Unless it's some kind of warrant for your immediate removal to Azkaban, you can march straight back to Dumbledore and tell him to shove it up his – "

"Sirius!" Harry interrupted loudly, glaring at his godfather. "We've got more important things to worry about right now!"

"Yeah, quit being a bloody prat and take the note," Fred said testily. "Do you really think she'd be here if Dumbledore thought she was going to play spy? Our father could be dead, Sirius, and all you're worried about is trying to jinx an innocent girl into oblivion!"

"She's far from innocent, Fred!" Black answered angrily. "Do you even _know _who she is? She's grown up with Lucius Malfoy and his foul son all her life, being fed all sorts of horrible stories about us – "

"I'm not my uncle or my cousin _or_ my aunt or mother, for that matter!" Lyra replied heatedly, clutching Dumbledore's note so tightly she could hear it crinkling. "I don't know why Dumbledore sent me along tonight, but I'm not about to attack any of you or spill your secrets to my family! I want Voldemort finished just as much as you do!"

Black glowered at her for another moment, then leaned forward – wand still in hand – and snatched the note from her. With some difficulty, he managed to shake it open using one hand and skimmed it quickly, his eyes narrowing with each line. Finally, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the fire, his expression one of utmost distaste. "You can stay," he said, though his tone suggested quite clearly that if it were up to him, she wouldn't be here at all. "But put one toe out of line and I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do."

Lyra nodded slowly, wondering what the note had said. "Can you at least put your wand away?" she asked, the words coming out more timidly than she'd wanted.

Black completely ignored her. "What's going on?" he said, repeating his initial question to the rest of the group. "Arthur's injured – ?"

"Ask Harry," Fred said, glancing worriedly at Lyra – whether for his father's welfare or her own, she couldn't tell.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," George said.

Harry launched into the tale of how he'd had a sort of dream that featured a huge snake attacking Mr. Weasley. Lyra stood still, listening intently along with the others, afraid that Black might actually turn around and jinx her if she merely breathed too loud. His reaction to her presence wasn't entirely unexpected, but she had been hurt by it, too. Who was he to judge her? He was a member of the same family and he, too, had chosen to join the side of the Light. There was nobody better than him to understand what she was feeling, yet here he was, treating her with the same animosity that she would have expected to receive from Harry, the Weasleys, or any other member of the D.A. or the Order.

How was she going to prove to him that they were one in the same?

"Is Mum here?" Fred asked once Harry had finished his story.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," Black replied. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."

"We've got to go to St. Mungo's," Ginny, who had been silent the entire time, spoke up. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!" Black exclaimed.

"'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want," Fred snapped, "He's our dad!"

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?" Black countered.

George crossed his arms. "What does that matter?"

"Because it looks suspicious," Lyra answered. Black's point was perfectly logical to her, but then again, the Weasleys were blinded by their emotions. She knew that she'd be acting just as hotheaded if it were any of her family that had been injured. "And the last thing you want to do is call suspicion on to yourselves or the Order."

Black gave her a dirty look. "Stay out of this!" he growled.

"Don't talk to her like that!" Fred said angrily, returning Black's fierce expression with one of his own.

"Somebody else could have told us," Ginny suggested, bringing them back to the situation at hand. "We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry…"

Black snorted. "Like where? Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's –" he stopped speaking abruptly and glanced at Lyra. "Oh, bloody hell – "

"You can speak freely in front of me!" Lyra said hotly, her face burning with discomfort again.

"Just because Dumbledore _thinks_ you're in the Order – " Black began rudely.

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" Fred interjected.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George shouted.

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" Black said, turning back towards the Weasleys. "This is how it is, this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand, there are things worth dying for!"

Fred laughed derisively. "Easy for you to say, stuck here! I don't see you risking your neck!"

Silence fell over the room, a deadly quiet that nobody seemed to want to break. "I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet," Black said finally, sounding calmer than he appeared. "We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?"

Ginny was the first to concede; she sank tentatively into the nearest armchair and ran a hand through her hair. Harry and Ron sat down next, and finally the twins took seats next to Ginny. Lyra took a few steps towards Fred and plopped into the empty seat next to him – she still wasn't overly fond of him, but he, at least, had stuck up for her against Black. Black, in turn, glared at her as she sat, as if her presence was the sole cause of the gloomy atmosphere.

The hours crept by slowly. Black gave them all butterbeers, coincidentally forgetting to Summon one for Lyra, but she didn't mind; she wasn't thirsty, anyhow. Mrs. Weasley sent word at one point, informing them that Mr. Weasley was still alive and that she was on her way to St. Mungo's and would send news as soon as possible. Mostly, they sat in silence, sipping their drinks, occasionally speaking to check the time or wonder what could be happening. Lyra sat stiffly in her chair, her back cramping because she refused to adjust her position and give Black another reason to stare daggers at her. Her eyes drooped on more than one occasion, but she forced herself to stay awake; it would do no good to fall asleep. She needed to stay alert. She was here for a reason. Vaguely, she wondered if Ara was still awake, fretting about her sudden disappearance. Maybe she thought Lyra really _had _changed her mind about Fred, and that they had run off to shack up in a broom closet somewhere… the thought made Lyra want to lose her dinner.

At ten past five in the morning, the door flew open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She looked tired and extremely pale, but she smiled as she addressed them: "He's going to be all right. He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work." Her gaze landed on Lyra, and she appeared briefly taken aback. "Who's this?"

"Nobody important," Black muttered.

Fred got to his feet. "Mum, meet Lyra Lestrange."

Mrs. Weasley was speechless for a moment, her warm brown eyes locked onto Lyra's face. "Lyra… Lestrange?" she repeated uncertainly, as if Fred was playing some kind of joke on her.

"Yes, Lestrange," Fred said impatiently. "Dumbledore sent her with us."

Mrs. Weasley turned to Black. "Is there a reason that Lyra Lestrange, daughter of one of the most horrific Death Eaters of all time, is sitting in your kitchen?" she asked, a bit of her usual temper creeping into her tone.

Black shrugged. "Ask that crackpot Dumbledore! He's given her leave to join the Order; if it were up to me, Molly, she'd be rotting away in Azkaban with her filthy parents – "

"She's a member of the _Order?!_" Mrs. Weasley screeched in disbelief.

"Hey, how come _Lyra's_ allowed to join the Order?" George interrupted, crossing his arms. "She's the same age as us, Mum, and you hardly tell us about anything that goes on! It's not fair!"

"Because I am your mother and as long as you're in school, the lot of you will not be gallivanting around risking your lives!" Mrs. Weasley responded firmly. "We've been over this, George, you're too young to be involved in any of this – "

Lyra giggled.

Mrs. Weasley instantly rounded on her. "Do you find something amusing?!"

Lyra shook her head. "No, it's just… you sound exactly like my aunt. She tells my sisters and Draco and I the same thing."

Mrs. Weasley just stared at her, eyes flashing.

"We don't care what goes on in the _Malfoy_ household," Black jumped in, pronouncing the name as if it were a dirty word. "Now, let's have breakfast… Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER! … Oh, forget it, then. So it's breakfast for – let's see – seven… Bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast –"

"I'm sorry for my Mum," Fred apologized as everybody followed Black over to the stove to aid in preparing breakfast. "And for Sirius. No offense, but they don't trust you."

"You think?" Lyra replied sarcastically, raising her eyebrows. She waved a hand over her shoulder. "Forget about it. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was expecting Black to totally lose it and curse me with an extra head or something."

Fred laughed, then turned serious. "Why didn't you tell any of us in the D.A. that you're in the Order?"

Lyra shrugged. "I didn't think to mention it. Dumbledore gave me permission to join, so I just assumed that he'd passed the word on to everyone. Judging by your mother's reaction, I guess he didn't."

Fred was quiet for a moment. "You know you're going to have to endure a lot more of this, right?" he said finally, jerking his head in the direction of his mother and Black.

Lyra sighed. "Yes, I know. It'll be like the D.A., only a million times worse. Don't worry, it's something I'm expecting."

Fred matched her sigh with one of his own. "It's a shame, really."

"Yes," Lyra agreed. "I was hoping that since Dumbledore trusts me, it might gain me some points with everybody else – "

"Oh, no," Fred cut in, sighing dramatically once more, "I just meant that this isn't at all how I pictured our first date happening."

Lyra stared at him. "We're not on a date," she responded disgustedly. "And you're still appalling."

Fred laughed good-naturedly. "Let's see how appalling you think I am after this."

And before Lyra knew what was happening, he had her by the shoulders and was pressing his lips against hers.

* * *

If you think Fred and Lyra's relationship seems a bit rushed, then you're right. I've always pictured Fred as the kind of person who doesn't mess around when it comes to feelings. He's very spontaneous and in the moment, and I feel like if he liked somebody enough, he wouldn't be shy about showing her how he felt. And don't worry, Lyra's presence during this scene from OotP will be explained. Hopefully Sirius and Mrs. Weasley seem in character. I imagine that they'd be opposed to Lyra joining the Order, of course, but as they don't _really_ know her, they're not going to totally flip out and throw her on the streets (well, at least Mrs. Weasley isn't, haha.) Plus, as Lyra said, Dumbledore trusts her, and I think that would mean a lot to most members (since they do trust his judgment concerning Snape.)

For those of you who like Carina and have been missing her lately, never fear… I'm planning on featuring her in the next chapter. I wanted to in this one, but it's long enough as it is.

As always, thank you for reading! Until we meet again…


	19. Strength

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait! This isn't as long as my usual chapters, but I really wanted to get something out there for you guys. I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and thank you to everyone who reviewed recently! Your comments are what inspire me to keep going.

**Chapter 18 - Strength**

_"Freddie's got a girlfriend!"_

She wasn't sure who had spoken, but the next thing she knew, there was a gasp, a choking sound, and a loud, metallic clang. "What do you think you're doing?" Lyra exclaimed, pushing Fred away from her and wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She caught a glimpse of Sirius Black out of the corner of her eye: he was – for the first time in the few hours or so that she'd known him – seemingly speechless, having dropped the pan in which he'd intended to begin cooking breakfast.

Fred grinned. "Times are tough, Lestrange. I'm not one to look the other way when an opportunity presents itself." He grabbed Lyra's hand and turned to face the others. "Hey, everyone! I forgot to mention that Lyra's my girlfriend!"

George thumped Ginny on the back; she was still choking on the last of her butterbeer. "Congratulations, mate!" he said, giving Fred the thumbs-up signal. "Persistence pays off, eh, Freddie?"

Mrs. Weasley glanced between her son and Lyra. "Your… girlfriend?" she repeated uncertainly.

Lyra yanked her hand from Fred's grasp. "I am _not_ his girlfriend!" she said firmly, crossing her arms in order to prevent Fred from taking her hand again.

Mrs. Weasley continued to stare at her warily. Lyra had never really seen her before, but she supposed that Fred retained most of his looks from her: they had the same warm, cheerful brown eyes, the same facial features, and, of course, the same fiery red hair. Fred was also stocky like his mother, though he was still slightly above average height. "I… well…" she turned away from them and fluffed her hair distractedly. "Will you be staying for breakfast, dear?"

"Mum!" Ginny cried, looking scandalized.

"Hush, Ginny, I have more important things on my mind right now apart from who Fred is dating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, grabbing an apron hanging from the hook on the back of the kitchen door and tying it around her waist.

"But a moment ago you couldn't believe she was allowed to be in the Order – "

"Yes, and we'll deal with that later; right now I'm a bit preoccupied with your father's health – "

"But you said he was going to be fine!" Ginny retorted.

"That doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about him!" Mrs. Weasley yelled.

"Don't worry, Ginny, we're all running high on emotion and little sleep, it's obvious that _clear-thinking_ isn't anyone's strong suit right now," Black said, glaring pointedly at Fred.

Fred ignored him. "Breakfast, dear?" he asked Lyra, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Lyra stared at him in disbelief. "Don't ever call me that again," she snapped. Fred Weasley had a lot of nerve. A _lot_ of damn nerve. "And no, I will not be having breakfast. I need to get back to Hogwarts somehow."

"Afraid that your precious family will be missing you?" Black sneered. "Let me guess, you haven't told them the truth about your allegiance yet? Shocking!"

"What allegiance?" Lyra scoffed. "Hasn't your small brain already decided that I'm _against_ you?"

"Yeah, Sirius, can you give her a break?" Harry spoke up softly.

"Lyra's been to every D… er, _Gobstones club_ meeting," Ron added, hastily changing his sentence as Harry elbowed him in the ribs. Lyra guessed that his mother didn't know – and certainly wouldn't approve – of his and the other Weasley children's involvement in the D.A. "Nobody's ever had a problem with her."

"At least not that they've said to her face," Ginny muttered.

"All right, you lot, that's enough!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "Ginny, help Sirius and I finish breakfast. The rest of you get to work setting the table. _Will_ you be staying for breakfast?" she repeated to Lyra, her tone a bit tighter than before.

Lyra shook her head. "No, thank you, but I really have to get back to Hogwarts." She glanced around. "Does anyone know – ?"

"You're to take a Portkey," Black said shortly. "Dumbledore gave instructions in that note."

"Did he say anything else?" George asked casually – fishing for information on the Order, Lyra knew.

"Nothing that's any of your business," Sirius replied, stalking over to one of the kitchen cabinets. He opened it and withdrew a gleaming silver goblet, embossed with the Black family crest.

Lyra eyed it. "You're using _that_ for the Portkey?"

Black glared at her. "Do you have a problem with that? What, you can't stand to see something representing the Black family get ruined?"

Lyra ignored the jab. "Do you even know how to create a Portkey? I've read that they're very advanced magic."

"I'm not a bloody idiot!" Black snarled, setting the goblet on the kitchen table. He drew his wand and touched the tip of it to the goblet, then closed his eyes in concentration. "_Portus_," he murmured. The goblet glowed blue for a moment before returning to its normal state. "There. Now take it and get out."

"How do I know you haven't cursed it to send me to Antarctica or somewhere?" Lyra asked warily. She could always Apparate back to Britain, of course, but it was just the point of the matter.

Black laughed raucously. "Trust. That's what you're asking for, isn't it? I suppose, Miss _Lestrange_, that you'll just have to show me the same courtesy."

* * *

The only way she would travel by Portkey again, Lyra decided, was if every other possible mode of transportation was unavailable. The feeling was definitely not one that she could get used to; it was worse even than Apparition. "Good day to you, Miss Lestrange," Professor Dumbledore greeted her pleasantly as she swayed on her feet, attempting to regain her balance. "Or, shall I say, good morning? It is still early, after all."

Lyra closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stop the world from spinning. "Good morning, sir," she murmured, opening her eyes slowly. Dumbledore's office swam lazily into focus.

"Please, have a seat," the Headmaster invited her, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. He looked tired, his face lined and weary, Lyra noticed. She wondered if he'd slept, then realized that the lack of sleep _she'd_ gotten probably wasn't doing her any favors, either. "Oh… um… here," she said, suddenly aware that she was still clutching Black's silver goblet. She set it gingerly on Dumbledore's desk before dropping into the seat he had indicated.

Dumbledore chuckled and Vanished the goblet with a wave of his wand. "Sirius hates those goblets, I am sure he will not miss it," he said in response to the look on Lyra's face – one that suggested she could not believe he would simply Vanish an object with so much material worth, even if it was practically destroyed from its use as a Portkey. "And speaking of Sirius, I believe you had the pleasure of meeting him?"

Lyra snorted. "'Pleasure' is not the exact word I would use."

Dumbledore sighed and laced his fingers together. "Yes, Sirius is rather hotheaded and hypocritical," he agreed, examining Lyra through his half-moon spectacles. "He is entirely immersed on the side of the Light. I didn't expect him to take well to your presence."

"He did the same thing!" Lyra exclaimed angrily, sitting straight up in her chair. "He renounced his family and their beliefs, too, but he treated me like I was nothing more than dirt!"

"He is a flawed human being, Miss Lestrange, as are we all," Dumbledore reminded her softly. "I must admit, my intent in sending you to Grimmauld Place was to have Sirius finally meet you and perhaps realize that not everyone is exactly the person he or she is expected to be. He often has – as you witnessed – trouble remembering that."

"I would have never guessed," Lyra replied dryly.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "I trust that Molly, however, was a tad more pleasant to you?"

Lyra thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "She was rather wary of me at first, but then she seemed to change… She was a bit more civil, but that may only be because she was preoccupied with her husband's welfare. Fred _did _tell her I was his girlfriend, however, so I'm sure that's points against me." She scowled, privately wishing that she could punch Fred in his stupid freckled face.

Dumbledore raised his silver eyebrows. "Ah, young love, I see. Such a union can sometimes do wonders in melting the ice around the hearts of disbelievers."

"Uh… yeah," Lyra said. She could think of no situation more awkward than discussing her supposed relationship with Fred with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "Anyhow, sir, when will I meet the rest of the Order? Do they even know I'm in the Order? Black knew, but Mrs. Weasley seemed surprised when he told her."

"I revealed your desire to join the Order to a limited number of people," Dumbledore responded. "Now that Molly knows, however, I am sure the word will spread rather quickly."

Lyra sighed and glanced down at her hands. "It's just not fair," she said softly. "I've never done anything to any of them. It's not right to judge me for things my parents have done. I mean, they don't all judge Black like that, do they?"

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. "Life is not fair, Miss Lestrange," he finally said. "It is not in the nature of men to see any individual person as unique. Stereotyping is, unfortunately, the habit into which humans have fallen. Sirius has worked hard to distinguish himself from the darkness of his family. I am afraid that you will have to do the same. This is not going to be easy, Miss Lestrange. You knew that from the beginning."

She _had_ known, of course. But now that the moment was finally here, she felt just as lost as she had that day over the summer when she'd told Carina that she had no wish to join her or the Dark Lord. She'd been resolute in her conviction, but being outnumbered had made her feel like a stranger in her own family.

Unlike her family, however, there were a _lot_ more members in the Order, as well as the D.A.

She would simply have to work harder to remain strong.

* * *

"Where in the _hell_ is Lyra?!" I ask the next morning, charging into the dormitory my sister shares with Eleanor and Ariane. It's barely seven, but Lyra's bed is made, the emerald blankets neat and pristine, as if she'd never slept under them at all. Ariane stirs at the sound of my voice, but Eleanor continues to snooze, her leg draped over the side of her bed.

"Wake up!" I go on, hopping on to Eleanor's bed and shaking her. She's a terribly deep sleeper; waking her up is such a chore. Ariane sits up in her bed and glares at me, her blonde hair piled on one side of her head. "Would you care to tell us what's going on?" she asks, irritation heavy in her tone.

"Go away," Eleanor groans, burying her head underneath her pillow.

"Lyra is missing," I announce. This gets Eleanor's attention, she turns over and stares at me sleepily out of one eye. Ariane frowns, watching me closely. "She went outside to talk to Fred Weasley last night and I haven't seen her since."

"Fred _Weasley?_" Ariane repeats with disdain. "She hates him!"

"I know," I respond, fingering my black braid nervously. "That's why I'm worried; she never came back, at least not that I saw. He was waiting outside of the common room entrance for her when I let Orion out. She went out to tell him to go away, and after she'd been gone about fifteen minutes, I peeked outside, but neither of them were there."

At the sound of his name, Orion slinks out from underneath Lyra's bed, jumping into my lap and staring up at me with amber eyes. "Sorry, Ara, we haven't seen her either," Eleanor says, sitting up and reaching forward to pat Orion. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere, though. There are only so many places she could be."

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry," Ariane chimes in, swinging her feet over the side of her bed. "Maybe she ran off with Fred somewhere."

I pull a face. "You're disgusting."

Eleanor giggles. "Calm down, Are Bear," she says. I make a mental note to kill Cassie for spreading that nickname throughout the entire House. "You fret far too much."

"She'll be at breakfast," Ariane adds, "And everything will be fine."

* * *

Lyra isn't at breakfast, but it turns out to be a blessing, as Abraxas arrives with the birthday present I'd sent away for: a brand new book on Arithmancy that I know my sister is dying to get her hands on, as well as a color changing bookmark – the colors switch depending on the subject of the book for which the marker is being used. "This is ridiculous," I scoff, shoving the gifts into my bag. Abraxas hoots softly and sticks his beak into my goblet of pumpkin juice. "She can't have left or something, can she? We're leaving tomorrow for break."

"Ara, for the hundredth time, _she's fine,_" Cassie says in exasperation. She's hunched over the same Transfiguration essay I'd been working on last night. "Can you quit worrying? You're driving us all insane."

"Well, what if Fred Weasley did something to her?" I demand. "In case you haven't noticed, he's not at the Gryffindor table, either!"

"I highly doubt that Fred did anything to her," Madeleine pipes up, picking absentmindedly at her nail polish – ironically enough, it's the same shade of Cheery Cherry that she'd used to set Pucey on fire. Daphne's still harping on about how Madeleine's never replaced the bottle for her. "We're at Hogwarts, Ara. They have to be somewhere in the castle. She's probably not even with Fred at all."

"You sound like your sister," I retort.

"Perhaps you should have listened to her sister in the first place, then," Ariane cuts in, reaching across the table for a piece of toast.

The bell rings. "Ah, damn it, I still haven't finished this!" Cassie moans, hurriedly scribbling a few more sentences at the end of her essay. "McGonagall is going to kill me!"

"I'm going to the bathroom," I say, ignoring her complaints. I stand quickly and hitch my bag over my shoulder. "I'll meet you guys in Transfiguration."

Madeleine eyes me suspiciously. "Ara – "

"I promise, I'll be there," I say, before she can accuse me of anything. "If I'm late, just tell McGonagall I'm not feeling well."

Madeleine opens her mouth to argue further, but I sprint down the table and melt into the crowd of students before she can do so. She knows I'm about to go search for my sister – I wouldn't be surprised if they all do. I don't care if I'm overreacting. Lyra's never disappeared like this before, especially in the company of someone she claims to despise.

Something isn't right, and I intend to find out exactly what it is.

* * *

"I wish for you to speak to the dementors."

Carina raised her head but didn't move from her kneeling position. "My lord?" she said, confused. The hour was late, and her sisters were due home from Hogwarts the next day – but still, the Dark Lord had shown up randomly at Malfoy Manor, intent on speaking with her. She had assumed it was in regards to Colette and was more frightened than she cared to admit, as she still had no significant information on the woman. Dementors, however, were another matter entirely – one that had nothing to do with her.

Or so she thought.

"Was I unclear at all, Carina?" The Dark Lord purred, his voice dangerous, yet silkily soft at the same time. "Surely, after these weeks of watching the Ministry woman, you have deduced what it is you must do?"

Biting her lip so hard she almost drew blood, Carina shook her head.

The Dark Lord was silent. "Stand up, Carina," he said finally. "Stand up and look at me."

Shakily, Carina obeyed, wishing fervently that she could be anywhere but here.

The Dark Lord rose from his seat behind Lucius' desk, his red eyes taking in the eldest Lestrange girl from head to toe. "You fancy yourself to be like your mother, do you not, Carina?" he asked, beginning to circle her as a vulture circles its prey.

Carina swallowed. "Y-yes, my lord. I am the eldest daughter, as is she. I like to believe that we harbor the same qualities."

"Do you know _why_ your mother is one of my most faithful followers? Why I value her beyond any other?"

He was so close to her. She could practically feel his breath on her skin. "Because she continued to serve you, to search for you, when all others thought you were finished."

"Ah, yes," the Dark Lord whispered, "But what is it, Carina, that _makes_ her so valuable? What did I see in her that I once thought I saw in you?"

_Once thought?_ She didn't like the sound of that. "I… I'm not sure, my lord."

He was directly in front of her now, those merciless red eyes boring into her own. "She is observant," he hissed, his thin form towering over her own. "She knows that there are things that lie underneath the surface, things that one has to do a little digging to find. She is not lazy. She is ruthless and when she is given a task, Carina, she does everything in her power to ensure that she successfully carries it out – all because she is unwaveringly loyal to her master."

"But I am the same way, my lord!" Carina exclaimed, unable to keep her nerves under control any longer. "I have done everything you have asked of me, I swear to you – "

"Then you would know, Carina, that Colette Barteau is a liaison to Azkaban," the Dark Lord interjected, his voice growing ever softer. "You know would know that her brother once worked in the Department of Mysteries, and that I had him disposed of over the summer for refusing to aid me in my quest for the prophecy. You would know that he was one of the brightest and most clever wizards to ever work for that department, before he quit in order to follow his dream of traveling the world."

Carina kept her silence. The truth was sinking over her like a dark cloud: she had failed. Again. She'd only observed Colette from a distance, rather than push deeper into both Colette's personal and family history. _That_ was why she couldn't figure out what the Dark Lord wanted with the woman. _That _was why she had failed also with Podmore; instead of delving deeper into the art of breaking into the Department of Mysteries, she had simply left him to his own devices, and he'd ended up bungling the entire operation.

She was completely screwed.

"You would know that Colette is our biggest chance in persuading the dementors to assist us in gaining our own access to the Ministry," the Dark Lord went on. He was barely breathing his words by this point, but Carina heard clearly everything he was saying. "They are our natural allies, but we must promise them victims, must offer them more than the Ministry can give. Colette Barteau used to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before switching her talents to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She is, however, still one of the most capable witches the Ministry has when it comes to dealing with dementors. She often assists in transporting prisoners to Azkaban, in order to communicate with the dementors and give reports on the prison and its inmates to the Ministry."

That, actually, was something that Carina knew, but she'd never put the pieces together, never once thought that Colette's experience with the dementors of Azkaban could help her master in any way. She'd been so caught up in herself, so worried that Ara might threaten her position, that she'd allowed her missions to slip completely through her hands. "My lord, I am so sorry," she murmured, praying that he would catch the deep sincerity in her words. "You are right, I should have pushed deeper, I should have done more than just observe Colette at work and home. I merely watched her, rather than researching things about her that could be useful towards achieving your goals. Please, my lord, I truly apologize for my ignorance."

The Dark Lord continued to gaze into her eyes for another minute or so before turning his back on her and resuming the seat behind Lucius' desk. "I thought you knew what I was asking of you, Carina," he said, his voice laced with disappointment. "You have always been eager to prove yourself. I thought you were aware of how important it is that I retrieve the prophecy… I thought you would be able to make the connection between Colette and her brother and the significance of my goals."

"But… my lord..." Carina began, hoping that she wouldn't anger him further, "I don't understand, Colette's brother is dead, how can he possibly help you in recovering the prophecy…?"

"Idiot girl!" the Dark Lord spat, gripping the sides of the chair tightly. Carina shivered, casting her head downward once more. "We do not need him as long as we have Colette! She is the key to freeing my followers from Azkaban. I cannot enter the Ministry myself, Carina, surely you realize this? It is too great a risk at this point in time. It will take some more time, but we must use Colette to gain the dementors' trust and liberate my faithful ones. The dementors will be able to get them into the Ministry, and then… only then… will I be in position to obtain the prophecy."

"Why… why must _I_ speak to the dementors, then, my lord?" Carina inquired in a small voice.

The Dark Lord folded his hands together. "Do you think Colette will agree to intercede to the dementors on my behalf?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm mixed with his words. "In that case, my dear Carina, I have wasted my time positioning you in the Ministry these past weeks."

"But, my lord, I don't understand how – short of the Imperius Curse – I am to convince her – "

"She will need no convincing," the Dark Lord interrupted coldly. "She is merely a pawn, the first victim we will offer to the dementors in order to switch their allegiance to our side."

Carina nodded as if she understood, but she was still confused; there were so many flaws in this plan, it seemed, so many things that could go wrong, so many things that didn't even make sense. Most of all, she was furious – furious at herself, that she ruined everything, that she let her last chance to remain in the Dark Lord's good graces shatter in pieces at her feet, all for the sake of her own foolish pride. "My lord…"

"Quiet," the Dark Lord commanded. "We shall speak more fully of the plan concerning Colette later; I can tell you are perplexed, Carina, and shall require me to explain it to you in detail."

Carina squeezed her eyes shut. "My lord, please – "

"Do not tell me how sorry you are," the Dark Lord said, his tone venomous. "This is the second time you have failed me, Carina, and I do not take lightly to such offense."

Carina kept her eyes closed. She knew what was coming.

"Nevertheless," the Dark Lord went on, "I have certainly had less reliable followers than you. The fact that you are Bellatrix's daughter is – I hope you are aware – your only redemption at the moment." He traced his chin slowly with his fingers. "Go. We are through here."

Carina sighed inwardly, daring to raise her head and open her eyes. She'd gotten off easy… much more easily than she'd thought. She bowed once more to the Dark Lord before turning and making her way as quickly towards the door as she could without running.

Her hand was on the doorknob before she realized that had been, in fact, _too_ easy.

_"Crucio!"_

* * *

If you're confused by Voldy's plan, too, don't worry. Carina is, so you aren't alone. :P

Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll get another update out soon!


	20. Master Of Disguise

**A/N: **I've been dealing with a personal loss in my family lately and haven't felt inspired to write, but I think I'm slowly gaining my motivation back. I'm going to set a goal of updating at least once a month for myself. I don't know if I'll always be able to stick to it, but I'm definitely going to try.

Enjoy this chapter, I think it's one of the longest I've written for this story. Much love to you all.

**Chapter 19 – Master Of Disguise**

Just the sight of Malfoy Manor – decorated grandly in red and green for Christmas, the snow-covered trees laden with holly, tinsel, and sparkling fairy lights – is enough to put a smile on my face. I'm not safe here from the Dark Lord – a constant shadow over my thoughts – as I am at school, of course, but it feels indescribably good to be home for the holidays. "My darlings!" Aunt Cissy cries the moment we set foot in the manor, running forward to hug us each in turn. Usually, she and Uncle Lucius meet us at King's Cross to escort us home, but Uncle Lucius had business at the Ministry, and Aunt Cissy had been expecting some renowned witch to come and fit Carina for her engagement dress. Lyra had Apparated Draco and me home instead. "Oh, my dears, I've missed you terribly!" She releases Lyra and pulls me to her, nearly crushing my ribs.

"Aunt – Cissy – you're – choking – me," I manage to gasp out, attempting to loosen her grasp on me.

Lyra smirks. "Hold her a bit tighter," she suggests, shaking flecks of snow from her chestnut hair. She's still angry with me for going a bit mental the day before and skipping Transfiguration to search the castle for her. I couldn't recall which class she had first on Fridays, but finally, after a little wandering, I'd spotted her in Professor Babbling's seventh year Ancient Runes class, unharmed and intact – which is more than I can say for myself, after McGonagall sought me out at lunch and berated me in front of the entire Hall. I'd intended to get Lyra on her own later, but Ariane and Eleanor beat me to the punch, informing my sister that I'd been overly concerned with her whereabouts, as well as her "relationship" with Fred Weasley. Lyra had gotten upset over the idea that I was "following" her and giving people the wrong idea about her and Fred, and had screamed at me a fair bit before proceeding to ignore me for the rest of the evening and the entire ride back to King's Cross.

I frown to myself as Aunt Cissy lets me go. My sister is ridiculous. At least I'd showed that I care about her. Ariane and Eleanor, her supposed best friends, hadn't been concerned in the least. I know that they were sure she was in the castle, but really, when has Lyra ever gone missing throughout the night before?

Draco rolls his eyes. "Overdramatic as usual," he mutters, loosening his tie and heading towards the stairs. He turns around midway to the top. "Really, Mother, you do this every time we –"

"Watch it, twerp!"

Draco spins around and freezes in his steps, inches away from colliding with Carina, who, clad in a form-fitting magenta dress, is on her way down the staircase. "Hello to you too, Carina!" he calls in a falsely jolly voice as she sweeps past him. "Good to see you again after _four months!_ I didn't miss you at all!"

"You just saw me when Ara was in the hospital wing," Carina retorts, heading straight for Lyra and wrapping her arms around her. Lyra appears surprised for a moment, then relaxes, grasping Carina tightly. Draco glances at me, eyebrows raised slightly, and I can tell that he's thinking the same thing I am: one would never guess that over the summer, they had fought unrelentingly over their views on the Dark Lord.

Their strange bond never ceases to amaze me.

"Miss Lestrange!"

The five of us turn in the direction of the voice. A tall, elegant woman stands at the top of the staircase, arms crossed. She's dressed in robes of deep blue and her light brown hair is tied neatly in a bun on top of her head. The exasperation in her face is obvious. "How do you expect to have a proper dress by next week if you run off in the middle of the fitting?" She goes on, striding down the stairs. "We still have work to do, that dress you have on is much too tight –"

"I apologize, Ms. Mathews," Aunt Cissy interjects, hurrying forward. "Carina is simply overexcited that her sisters and cousin returned home today."

"Yeah, she seems _really_ excited to see me," Draco replies sarcastically.

"_Draco,_" Aunt Cissy hisses warningly. She beckons for him to join us, which he does shuffling his feet and rolling his eyes as if he's five years old. Aunt Cissy ignores this. "Ms. Mathews, these are Carina's sisters, my nieces Lyra and Ara, and my son, Draco. Lyra, Ara, Draco – this is Ms. Allyson Mathews. She owns a boutique in Hampstead and has agreed to assist Carina in creating the perfect wedding dress."

"Yes, well, only if we can perfect her engagement dress first," Ms. Mathews answers, though she doesn't seem considerably angry. She holds out her hand to shake each of ours. Up close, she appears much younger than I expected – early thirties, perhaps. I can tell she doesn't originate from Hampstead; she lacks the cockney accent that is common to many of northern Britain's inhabitants. Aunt Cissy must have paid a fortune to convince her to travel to Wiltshire and take care of Carina's engagement/wedding wardrobe. Only the best for the noble, pureblood daughters of Black.

Lyra smiles. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," she says warmly.

Draco and I nod in agreement. "A pleasure," I add, though honestly, I had no idea that Allyson Mathews even existed prior to this moment.

Ms. Mathews cocks her head, tracing her chin with slim fingers. I notice that her left hand is bare; she must be the type that devotes all of her time to her work, rather than aspiring to have a family. "Such beautiful girls, all three of you," she says, her light blue eyes calculating. "Surely you wouldn't mind, Mrs. Malfoy, if I were to create dresses for the younger two as well? No extra charge, this is at my insistence."

Aunt Cissy barely masks her shock. "Well… well, of course!" She finally manages, grinning broadly. "Lyra and Ara would be extremely grateful to you, wouldn't you, girls?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lyra and I reply in unison, tipping our heads respectfully to Ms. Mathews.

Ms. Mathews claps her hands together. "Wonderful! I shall finish fitting Miss Lestrange and then start on the pair of you. Such lovely sisters should all look stunning for such a lovely occasion." She heads for the stairs, speaking to Carina as she does so. "Come, Miss Lestrange, lets finish you up."

To my surprise, Carina pulls me into a hug before following Ms. Mathews back upstairs, whispering that she's missed me. This time, Draco's eyebrows nearly disappear into his white-blonde hair, and I know that something is definitely amiss. Carina has never been a particularly touchy-feely person – it's rather rare for her to show physical affection of any kind, except with Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius, and that's only because Aunt Cissy forces herself upon us all. I wonder what's caused her to suddenly change her ways.

There's a lot I'm wondering about my sisters lately. Nothing is as it seems with either of them, and for the first time, I'm the one who feels left out.

"This is entirely unfair, Mother," Draco whines, breaking into my thoughts. "Don't I get something custom-made, too?"

Well, it's good to know that Draco, at least, never changes.

* * *

Fitting Lyra and myself for dresses takes well into Monday, as Ms. Mathews had insisted on making us dresses for both the engagement party and the wedding. And once she'd learned that the engagement party doubled as a birthday party for Lyra, she'd become even more determined to create a suitable party dress for my sister. "Stand up straight, Miss Lestrange, slouching will do nothing to shrink your height," Ms. Mathews admonishes, straightening Lyra's shoulders. "Trust me, I have been tall all my life and employed every method possible to shrink myself to a more petite height, but I eventually learned to embrace my stature."

"I'm not slouching," Lyra protests, though she sounds more good-natured than cross. The three of us have come to genuinely like Ms. Mathews; she is kind, witty, and firm in a respectable sort of way. She reminds me of Mary Poppins, a fairytale character I once came across in Lyra's textbook for Muggle Studies that harbors many of the same qualities. "Perhaps it only seems that way because Ara has to stand on her toes to try and gain some height?"

Carina, admiring her completed magenta engagement dress in the parlor mirror, laughs loudly.

"I'm not sure what you're laughing at, you're the same height as me," I respond brusquely. Honestly, it's not as if Carina and I are dwarves. We're four inches shorter than Lyra at most. She's the only one who took after our father height-wise.

"That will do," Ms. Mathews silences us, stepping back to take a look at her work. "All right, Miss Lestrange, you may change back into your robes. A few more adjustments and I'll have this ready for you by tomorrow."

Lyra hops off of her stool, the hem of her aqua dress swishing around her ankles. I'm a tad envious of her dress, though Ms. Mathews has done an incredible job creating flattering outfits for the three of us. Carina's wedding dress is absolutely flawless – it's long sleeved, low cut, and extraordinarily simple, but it complements her in a way I've never seen. She practically glows when she wears it, the pure white standing out starkly against her olive skin and chestnut hair. Her engagement dress is simple as well; it falls just to her knees, with one strap running down her right shoulder. Lyra's engagement/birthday dress is also knee-length – a sweetheart cut made from a soft raspberry color. The aqua dress, comprised of an organza material, is for the wedding. Like Carina, both dresses serve to flatter Lyra immensely, making her look nearly as tall and graceful as Ms. Mathews.

"Now on to you, my dear," Ms. Mathews says, shifting over to observe me in my rose-colored dress. I'm not a huge fan of shades of pink, but I suspect she's gone with some sort of color theme for both the engagement and the wedding, as my dress for the wedding is a cerulean blue. Both of my dresses are similar in style to Lyra's. "Goodness, I do wish your hair wasn't so dark. It's not as well-suited to these colors."

I huff and cross my arms. "Shall I take a vial of Color Changing Potion to it, then?" I say sarcastically, a bit annoyed that certain aspects of my appearance seem to be the laughing matter of the day. I didn't _ask_ to be born with jet black hair. I'd trade it if I could, for the beautiful chestnut color that my sisters possess.

Ms. Mathews doesn't look up from the measurements she's taking around my knees. "There's nothing wrong with being different," she says through a mouthful of pins. "Your hair is exquisite. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

"You just did," I point out, not particularly caring if I sound rude.

"I simply said that it is not as complementary to these colors as brown is," Ms. Mathews responds. "There are other colors that suit black better than pink or blue."

"Like what?"

"Oh, there are a few options. Red, green, and purple, for example."

"Can't you use magic for that?" Lyra interrupts, turning away from the mirror and observing Ms. Mathews at work. Instead of changing, she's joined Carina in admiring her reflection. Her question is one of simple curiosity, lacking the discourtesy that had been clearly present in my tone.

Ms. Mathews takes up an inch of fabric. "I could, but the end result wouldn't be nearly the same. I prefer to do my work by hand."

"Well, you do a wonderful job," I say, trying to make up for my attitude a moment ago. "We really appreciate you doing this. You didn't have to go out of your way to make dresses for Lyra and me, too."

"Yes, well, I have two sisters as well, and I know that the bond between sisters can be one of the strongest there is. I want the three of you to enjoy yourselves and look fabulous while doing so." Ms. Mathews stands up and looks me once-over. "All right, my dear, you're practically perfect. Just a few more adjustments to yours, too, and you, my lovely ladies, will be the belles of the ball."

"Will you be coming?" Lyra asks, twirling around so that her dress flies around her ankles. I stifle a laugh; she isn't usually this vain. I understand her excitement, however – we normally wear dress robes to formal occasions, not actual dresses.

Ms. Mathews shakes her head. "Your aunt has invited me, but I don't think I shall be in attendance."

"Why not?" Lyra demands. "You put so much work into these dresses, you should at least be there to see them put to use!"

Ms. Mathews shrugs. "I'm not fond of dances," she says casually. "My parents used to drag my sisters and I to them when we were younger – a few of them held by your grandparents, actually."

"You must have known Aunt Cissy, then!" Lyra presses.

"And our mother," Carina adds quietly, her eyes shining.

Ms. Mathews hesitates for a moment. "Yes, I did," she finally admits. "But your aunt does not remember me, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Are you family?" I ask, interested in spite of Ms. Mathews' obvious disdain for this conversation.

Ms. Mathews shakes her head. "No, I was merely a classmate of your mother's and aunt's – both of your aunts, actually – at Hogwarts. I was in Ravenclaw, however, and rarely mixed with those from Slytherin House. My mother was a friend of Druella, your grandmother, and that was why we were often invited to parties held by the Black family."

"It's odd that Aunt Cissy wouldn't remember you, though," Lyra muses, her brow furrowed. "You've become a famous designer, wouldn't she recall your name?"

Ms. Mathews shrugs. "Not necessarily. I'm not as well known in this part of Britain, and as I said, I rarely spoke with those outside of my own House at Hogwarts. We weren't in the same year, either; I was the same age as your other aunt, Andromeda."

"Nobody cares about her," Carina says silkily. "Tell us what you remember about our mother."

Ms. Mathews bites her lip, and it's apparent that she's regretting entering into the conversation. Lyra's face is unreadable, but personally, I'm actually curious as to what insights Ms. Mathews has to offer on our mother. "I'm afraid not much. She was ahead of me in school, so I usually only saw her at parties, and even then we didn't spend much time conversing."

I can tell that Carina doesn't believe this story by the way she immediately opens her mouth to retort, but Lyra speaks first: "How did Aunt Cissy find you, then?"

"Oh, there could be a number of ways. Sometimes I advertise my shop in the _Daily Prophet _when I'm looking for new clientele, or someone could have recommended me to her. It doesn't matter. What _does_ matter, however, is fixing these up so the three of you look stunning Friday night." She nods at Lyra and me, the tone of her voice effectively preventing any further discussion on her past. "Hurry and change, girls, I have more work to be getting on with tonight."

* * *

Lyra's actual eighteenth birthday, the eighteenth of December, passes uneventfully, but the morning of the twenty-second finds the entire manor in a state of disarray. "You are _not_ wearing those robes!" Aunt Cissy snaps around late afternoon, grabbing the sleeve of Draco's emerald dress robes. He's spent the last half hour in his room, altering his outfits to suit Aunt Cissy's demands.

"Why not?" Draco insists, yanking his arm out of his mother's grasp. "They're dress robes, Mother, what else do you expect me to wear? You've had me change three times already!"

"If you'd wear your black dress robes like I told you to in the first place, we wouldn't be having this argument!" Aunt Cissy retorts. "Your cousins are all wearing shades of pink, Draco, you'll clash horribly with anything but black!"

Draco rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. "You didn't force us to color coordinate for Carina's birthday!"

"Yes, well, this is more important!" Aunt Cissy states emphatically. She runs a hand down Draco's pale cheek. "Please, darling, just wear your black dress robes."

Draco snorts and pulls away. "You're absolutely ridiculous, Mother!" He scoffs. "Carina's engagement party to some bloke is more important than her _birthday party_ _where she took the Dark Mark?_ You clearly have your priorities mixed up, Mother."

Carina, already clad in her magenta dress, nearly spills her cup of tea on Aunt Cissy's and Uncle Lucius' bed. The three of us and Lyra have gathered in there for final dress/hair/make-up approvals, as it's larger than any of our rooms and has more mirrors. Uncle Lucius is downstairs in the ballroom with the house elves, directing them in last minute preparations for the party. He's learned to stay far away during Aunt Cissy's usual pre-party tirades, though Draco's right – she wasn't nearly this bad before Carina's birthday party. "Shut up!" My sister yelps, roughly setting the cup on the bedside table. "You know nothing, Draco!"

"Did everyone forget that this _is_ my birthday party, too, and not just Carina's engagement?" Lyra asks, her expression sour.

Draco laughs loudly. "Of course, how could I forget, tonight is about everyone except for me! Even Ara got a new dress! What did I get? Nothing!"

I roll my eyes in an imitation of my cousin. "Could you be any more childish?" I say to him, exasperated. "It's a _dress,_ Draco. A bloody dress. Would you like me to write Ms. Mathews and see if she can whip one up for you on the spot? I've never had the impression that you particularly enjoy women's fashions, but I'm sure she can find something for you!"

Draco opens his mouth to argue, but Aunt Cissy forestalls him. "ENOUGH!" She screeches, throwing her arms up. "We haven't the time for your petty disagreements! Draco, get back into your room and change into your black dress robes. _Now._ Carina, let Ara do your make-up, she's best at it. Lyra, come over here and let me put a few more curls in your hair. And if I hear one more word from any of you, I shall take every Christmas present your uncle and I have gotten for you and donate them to a Mudblood orphanage. Do _not_ test me."

No one does. We pass the rest of the afternoon in relative silence, going about our separate tasks, and before we know it, it's time to start greeting guests in the entrance hall. Dover shows them in while Mally and Tippy take their coats. Unlike last time, Aunt Cissy has Draco and me stand in the receiving line. Draco, for whatever reason, attempts to protest this as well, but one murderous look from Aunt Cissy is enough to shut him up. "Ah, Agnelo," Uncle Lucius says genially as Elliot and his parents enter the hall, shaking Elliot's father's hand with both of his own. Mally is hovering nervously near his ankles, his enormous bulk seeming to intimidate her from asking for his jacket.

"Lucius!" Agnelo Ryeland booms, returning the handshake and throwing his other arm around his petite wife's shoulders. "Always a pleasure, my dear man, always a pleasure… Where is the beautiful bride to be?!"

I've been in this line for less than ten minutes and already hate it. The Ryelands work their way towards Carina, praising her beauty the entire time. Unfortunately, they also decide to stand in line with us to greet the rest of the guests, and Lyra, Draco, and I are pushed back to the very end. "Always the same thing," Lyra mutters, folding her arms in annoyance. Carina and Elliot make a sickening sight, holding hands and giggling to one another.

I nod. "At least Mr. Ryeland hasn't accosted us this time."

Draco smirks. "Oh, please. You can't tell me girls don't love all the attention they get at these things."

"Not from everyone," Lyra grumbles.

We suffer through making small talk with several other guests, including Pansy and her parents, the former of which gives Draco a sly wink before heading for the ballroom. I try to refrain from gagging, but the fact that I'll have to put up with even more displays of affection from the pair of them during dinner is enough to make me lose my appetite altogether.

"Lyra!"

Lyra, Draco, and I all look over. Anthony Abarca, having just greeted Aunt Cissy with a quick kiss to the hand, is making his way towards us. By the scandalized look on Carina's face, I can tell he has completely bypassed her and the Ryelands. "Hey, Anthony," Lyra responds, smiling warmly. "Having a good holiday so far?"

Anthony sweeps my sister's hand in his and bows to her deeply. "As good as can be expected, my lady," he says, planting a rather long kiss on her hand. Lyra chuckles a bit nervously, pulling her hand gently from his grip. "I'm glad to hear that," she says, trying to discreetly wipe her hand on the back of her dress while shooting me a pointed glance. "What do you and your parents have planned for Christmas?" She peers around him. "In fact, where _are_ your parents? Did your sister come, too? It's been awhile since I've seen her, I'd like to say hello."

"Oh, um, she couldn't make it," Anthony replies quickly. "Neither could my parents."

"Forget about us, Anthony?" Draco interrupts, glaring at him, as if that alone would draw his attention to our presence. Draco certainly seems to have an aversion to being "forgotten" today. He can be quite the spoiled brat when he wants to be. "Ara and I aren't part of the wall decorations, you know."

"Really? You could have fooled me!" Anthony jokes, grinning.

Draco maintains a straight face. "That wasn't funny, Abarca. Far from it."

Anthony shrugs, his face falling slightly. "Ah, well, I'm not really known for my humor, am I?"

"No, clearly not," Draco sneers.

Lyra gives me another look. Draco appears oblivious, but she and I have definitely noticed that something is amiss. "Are you okay, Anthony?" I ask concernedly. "You seem a bit… off, tonight."

Anthony nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," he assures us, his wide grin back in place. "Now… who's ready to indulge in a few pre-dinner drinks?"

By now, most of the guests have arrived, and Aunt Cissy gives us permission to escape to the ballroom. Anthony chatters incessantly along the way, ignoring Draco and myself and speaking mainly to Lyra. Draco doesn't bother to hide his disgust at being shirked; he makes pointed jabs or throws a dirty look at Anthony every so often. I find it odd that Anthony is paying so much attention to Lyra. They're friends, of course, being in the same year and House at school, but I'd never had the impression they were _this_ close.

Cassie's words on the Hogwarts Express suddenly come back to me: _Why didn't you tell me you guys were dating?!_ I'd found the idea ludicrous then, but now – watching Anthony flash smile after brilliant smile at my sister – I feel an inexplicable jealousy stabbing my stomach. The emotion must register on my face, because Draco slips his arm through mine and pulls me close to him. "He's a git," he says, shooting Anthony yet another glare. "I don't know what his problem is tonight, but I don't like it."

I merely nod, chewing on my lip. Draco isn't much comfort on these matters. I'd rather have Cassie or Madeleine. Both, however, had declined invitations to the party yet again – Madeleine, as usual, was spending the holiday break in France, and Cassie and her family were going back to Australia.

It doesn't matter. It's ridiculous for me to have such feelings about Anthony, anyway. I'm two years younger than him and there's no way any boy would ever choose to date me over Lyra.

We enter the ballroom and Draco immediately drags me over to where Pansy is sitting with Daphne, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. I glance around the room, searching for others close to my age, but find no one except for Marcus Flint, Daphne's younger sister Astoria, Calvin Warrington, and the three Bletchley boys. There's still more "kids" here than there were at Carina's birthday party, however. No pureblood family wants to miss an engagement party; the only excuse for doing so would be to be having left the country. "Drakey!" Pansy squeals, scooting over to make room for him at the table. "Sit next to me!"

Daphne catches my eye and shakes her head in exasperation, tapping her fingernails impatiently on the table. "Come sit by me, Ara," she invites, indicating the chair next to her. Normally, I'd stick by Lyra, but I know that Daphne – like myself and any other sane person – can't stand Pansy's antics around Draco, so I oblige and seat myself accordingly. Lyra pulls out the seat next to Blaise (they're both incredibly intelligent, so they get along well) and Anthony drops next to her, his face inscrutable. "Would you like something to drink?" He asks my sister.

"The elves will bring wine around," Lyra replies, turning away from him to engage Blaise in a conversation about Arithmancy – specifically, about the book I'd gotten her for her birthday. Blaise doesn't take Arithmancy, so I'm unsure of why he's even partaking in the conversation, but I've always gotten the feeling that he's had a bit of a crush on Lyra. It's interesting, because Blaise is extremely vain and very hard to please, but I suppose Lyra's looks and intelligence are enough to hold his attention. Lyra, however, is oblivious to this – at least, rather, she's never said anything to me about it.

Anthony appears put off, but he doesn't give in just yet. "Well, is there something else I can get you? Anything at all?"

"Has someone Obliviated you, Abarca?" Draco asks, turning away from Pansy to give Anthony an incredulous look. "This isn't some _Mudblood_ gathering. The elves will come around and bring us everything we need. Honestly, you act as if you've never been to a party before."

Anthony raises his eyebrows. "Well, I can certainly name a few I've been to that provided better company, if you know what I mean."

Draco jumps to his feet. "No, I'm afraid I don't," he snaps menacingly, his right arm twitching as if he's dying to reach for his wand. He's only refraining because creating such a spectacle at a party with so many important people will reflect badly on our family – _especially _because it's our family throwing the party. "Why don't you explain it to me, Abarca?"

"All right, Malfoy," Anthony concedes, smiling, "As long as you can handle me telling you what an annoying, pompous, and ugly snotrag you are –"

"Stop it!" I yell. Draco's cheeks are flushed pink and he's going to snap if I don't do something immediately. "Anthony, can I have a word with you, _now?_"

"Yeah, Abarca, let's take this outside!" Draco snarls, shaking off the arm Pansy has placed on his shoulder.

"_You_ stay here," I order my cousin, grabbing Anthony's arm and dragging him towards the doors. Lyra follows, barking a similar command to Draco. I know he doesn't like it, but out of the corner of my eye I see him angrily resume his seat, Pansy linking her arm through his and whispering in his ear.

We run into Aunt Cissy entering the ballroom just as we are about to exit. With her is none other than Professor Snape, clad in his usual black, his greasy hair hanging about his face. "Ara!" She exclaims in surprise at my apparent haste. "Where on earth are you going?" Her eyes travel to Anthony and Lyra. "Anthony, dear, you ran off so quickly before! I thought you weren't able to make it? Your mother said that the three of you were ill –"

"Ah, well, I'm a living miracle!" Anthony responds, chuckling. Snape narrows his eyes at him, his look calculating. "Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Malfoy, but I promise, I've never felt better!"

Aunt Cissy nods, though the confusion on her face is evident. "How are your parents, then? Is your sister well?"

"Jasmine is fine, Mrs. Malfoy, thank you for asking," Anthony answers promptly. "My parents are still recovering, but I'm sure they'll be back on their feet in no time. I'm a fast healer, you see; I laugh a lot, and laughter builds up your immune system –"

"We'll be right back, Aunt Cissy," I cut across his ridiculous babbling. "Lyra and I just wanted to show Anthony your garden; he has a passion for Herbology."

Aunt Cissy frowns. "Don't be long, Ara," she warns. "It's almost time for dinner to be served and your uncle will be furious if you and Lyra are late. You know how he values punctuality, and this party is partly for Lyra, after all."

"We'll be back in no time," I promise, edging towards the door. "Come on, Anthony, Lyra."

The minute we reach the entrance all, Anthony doubles over with laughter. "Did you see the look on Malfoy's face?" he asks, clutching his side. "It's not much, but I had to get a couple of jabs in to repay him for getting us thrown off the Quidditch team."

Lyra wrinkles her forehead in confusion. "What are you talking about? You don't even play Quidditch!"

"Nice place you've got here," Anthony goes on, strolling around the entrance hall, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "George was betting that our entire house could fit into your bedroom…" He waggles his eyebrows at Lyra seductively. "Care to give me a tour of it, love?"

I have no idea what's going on. "Who's George?" I inquire. "And what do you mean, we have a 'nice place?' You've been here dozens of times, Anthony!"

At the mention of George, Lyra's mouth drops open. Anthony glances at me and flashes a dazzling smile. "Ah, Ara, thank you! I was beginning to think my endless requests for a drink were lost on everyone." He reaches into the pocket of his dress robes and pulls out a small flask. He unscrews the cap and holds it up, as if making a toast. "You saved my ass by taking us out of there, I was a little wary about whipping this out in front of everyone." He raises the flask to his lips.

"PUT IT DOWN!"

Anthony lowers the flask. Lyra, her face beet red, has her wand pointed directly at him. "Is that any way to treat a guest?" Anthony says casually, as if he couldn't care less that my sister has drawn her wand against him. He ignores her order and takes a few sips from the flask before capping it and stowing it back in his pocket.

"Lyra, what are you – ?" I begin.

"YOU – ARE – UN – BELIEVABLE!" Lyra shrieks, completely disregarding me, her expression one of twisted fury. Her wand arm shakes violently. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!"

I can count on one hand the amount of times I've heard Lyra use language like that. Anthony, however, shows absolutely no trace of fear as he smiles and holds his hands up. "All right, all right, calm down," he implores. "Really, Lyra, you can put the wand away, I swear I'm not old Voldy pants in disguise."

"No, but you're just as bad," Lyra snaps, "And I'm beginning to suspect that you're mentally impaired in some way! How _dare_ you – !"

"Excuse me!" I interject hotly. "Can somebody _please_ explain what's going on here?!"

Lyra and Anthony both glance at me in surprise, as if they've forgotten I'm there. "Ara," Lyra says finally, her voice tight, "Meet the bane of my existence, Fred Weasley."

Anthony comes over to me and takes my hand in his. "We've already had the pleasure, Ara, but I'm always happy to become better acquainted with my girlfriend's family," he says, kissing my hand lightly.

Lyra rolls her eyes. "For the millionth time, we are _not_ dating!" she exclaims, her wand still extended. "You're a disgusting pig, Fred Weasley, and the fact that you're standing in my house right now makes me feel perfectly justified in jinxing your head off!"

"Is this a joke?" I ask, still unsure of what I'm seeing.

Lyra growls in frustration. "The only joke here is the means to which this idiot will go to stalk me!"

Anthony grins. That seems to be all he's done all night – smile, grin, laugh, as if he hasn't a care in the world. It makes more sense now that I know he is actually Fred Weasley. "You're blowing this a bit out of proportion, Lyra," he says congenially. "I overheard your friends Eleanor and Ariane talking in Care of Magical Creatures about how they couldn't make it to the party, and I realized that you'd forgotten to issue me an invitation. Oh, don't worry," he adds, at the stricken look on Lyra's face, "I won't hold it against you. I just wanted to make sure that you received a proper birthday present from me, and not just those flowers I gave to you back at Hogwarts."

Lyra stares at him. "Were you dropped on your head as a child?" she says seriously, finally lowering her wand and sticking it back into the pocket of her dress. "Honestly, I don't know how else to explain this to you: we are not dating. I am not your girlfriend. I did not ever intend to invite you tonight. I want absolutely nothing at all to do with you!"

"How did you get in here, first of all?" I demand. This is entirely bizarre and I'm still in a state of disbelief. "What did you do to the real Anthony?"

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, he's fine," Fred responds. It's extremely strange to know that it's him underneath Anthony's physical exterior. "The only class Lyra doesn't take with us is Care of Magical Creatures. George and I may have – ah – _accidentally_ slipped him a Puking Pastille during our last class. He probably – er – _mistakenly_ thought it was candy and ate it." He looks at me. "As to how I got in here, well, that was easy enough. I walked through the door."

Lyra rolls her eyes again.

"Classes ended last Friday," I reply evenly, ignoring his attempt at humor. "How is it that Anthony is _still_ ill today, a week later?"

"Ah, well, George and I have been experimenting with making our Skiving Snackboxes last longer – you know, for students who want to miss more than just one lesson. We haven't gotten it quite right yet, as we're not sure it'll be a popular seller – I mean, who would want to make themselves intentionally sick for days, when it's more advantageous to take the antidote and enjoy a couple of hours free from lessons – but we've been working on it, anyway. Anthony was our first – _tester_, if you will."

"That's extremely dangerous!" Lyra interrupts heatedly. "I don't even know what your stupid Puking Pastilles or Skiving Snackboxes are, but how could you give him something that could have made him seriously ill?"

"It was perfectly safe," Fred insists. "We just added a higher dosage of certain ingredients. We test all of our products on ourselves, too, and I'd never give someone something that could possibly harm them."

I've heard of the Weasley twins' inventions. Some of them are quite clever. There's a rumor that they plan to open their own joke shop, but I can't picture myself ever shopping there. "What about his parents?"

"They're probably at home taking care of him," Fred replies dismissively. "It was just easier to tell your aunt that all three of them were indisposed. And I know his sister is in Egypt; she works with my brother as a curse-breaker."

Lyra and I are both quiet for a moment. The fact that Fred Weasley fancies my sister enough to plan an elaborate admittance to her party astounds me, though I'm not as angry as she is. I'm just glad that Anthony is okay. "Where did you get the Polyjuice Potion from?" I inquire, more than a bit interested. It's not a potion that I've ever made myself, but I've always dreamed of doing so. I read the instructions once. They had been difficult, but didn't appear to list anything that I couldn't handle. I don't believe for a second, however, that Fred possesses the ability to concoct such a complex potion.

"From Snape's private storeroom," Fred answers.

"Snape is _here_ tonight, you dolt," Lyra says instantly. "He's a Potions Master. He'll be able to tell in a heartbeat that you've taken something – well, anyone can, really, with the idiotic way you've been behaving. You've done a horrible job imitating Anthony's personality."

"I think I'm doing a fabulous job, actually," Fred says airily, sticking his chin up and folding his arms across his chest.

"How did you get into Snape's storeroom?" I press.

Fred shrugs. "It wasn't difficult. George created a diversion during Potions one day and I slipped in while Snape was occupied. And it was beyond easy to nick a piece of Anthony's hair."

Lyra's eyes widen. "So it was _you_ who set off that Dungbomb?"

"Of course not. Didn't I just say that it was George who created the diversion?"

"It's the same difference!" Lyra snarls. "I can't believe you've done this! You're going to be found out, especially if you're seen drinking from that flask all night – "

"Yeah, I borrowed it from Mad Eye Moody," Fred says, removing the flask from his pocket again and studying it. "I got the idea to use it from him."

"You've put us all in an extremely precarious situation!" Lyra goes on, doing her best not to shout and attract attention to us. "Can you imagine what's going to happen once someone finds out? Do you not think before you act, Fred Weasley?"

"Nope, not usually," Fred says nonchalantly. "Look, Lyra, Snape may be a Potions Master, but I'm a Master of Disguise. Nobody's going to find out, I promise."

Lyra glares at him, fuming. She looks as if there's more she wants to say, but can't quite come up with the words. "You don't know what you've done!" She finally bursts out, spinning on her heel and stalking off towards the ballroom.

I'm perplexed by her words, but Fred offers no explanation as his lips flatten into a grim line. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. "What in the hell is that?" I ask, eyeing it suspiciously.

Fred chuckles. "Not what you think it is, I assure you."

Thank Merlin. One engagement at this point is enough.

Fred turns the box over in his hand, staring at it. "I'm guessing now wouldn't be a good time to give this to her, huh?"

I sigh and shake my head. Mentally impaired, indeed.


	21. The Lines Are Drawn

**A/N:** First off… I know I didn't stick to my monthly update promise. But in my defense, I'm still going through a bit of a rough time, so I'm hoping things will get better as time goes on. Writing has always been my passion, and it's always a joy and therapeutic release working on this story. I'll try to be more diligent in the future, and just want to thank you all for reading. I wouldn't be where I'm at today with this story if not for all you loyal readers.

Anyhow, on a more positive note… there's another Ara/Snape scene in this chapter for **RosalieLestrange** and all my other Snape lovers! Yeah! I do love me some Snape.

**Chapter 20 – The Lines Are Drawn**

"That git is _still_ here?" Draco asks disgustedly as I resume my seat next to Daphne. He watches Fred amble across the floor to Marcus Flint's table, where Lyra is now sitting, along with Warrington and the Bletchleys. "I thought you'd kicked him out!"

I shrug and reach for the goblet of wine the elves have brought around in my absence. Parties are the only time any of us can get away with drinking – Aunt Cissy thinks we're too young (even Carina and Lyra, who are of age), but it's much harder for her to keep an eye on us when a bunch of people are around. When she does catch us, her relentless lecturing is punishment enough. "Forget about it, Draco. Anthony's been sick; he didn't know half of the things he was saying. He's clearly not himself tonight."

"I don't care!" Draco snaps. "Don't defend him, Ara, he has no right to come into _our _house and insult me!"

Pansy smirks. "She's only sticking up for him because he likes her," she says, her voice sickly sweet.

My face reddens. "He does not!"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, Lestrange, everyone knows it! It's so obvious. He's always glancing at you during breakfast or in the common room." She studies me. "Do _you_ like _him?_"

"Absolutely not!" I exclaim, nearly choking on the sip of wine I've just taken. "Cut it out, Parkinson, you're being completely ridiculous!"

"And he's shifted his sights to her sister, anyhow," Daphne says, smiling slightly as she turns to glance at Fred and Lyra. A wave of envy churns my stomach, even though I'm well aware that the real Anthony isn't here.

"He'll have nothing to do with either one of you as far as I'm concerned," Draco scoffs, his gaze still fixed on Fred and my sister. Fred appears to be trying to speak to her, but she's ignoring him, determinedly engaging Flint in conversation instead. To anyone else, she seems calm, composed, but her flushed cheeks and rigid posture tell me that Fred's mere presence is continuing to make her blood boil. "Ara, stay away from him."

"Honestly, Draco, you're not my father," I hiss at him. "Don't tell me what to do; it's not as if I'm going to listen, anyhow."

Draco crosses his arms. "You will if I tell Mother and Father what a prat Abarca's been this evening!"

Typical. Draco always uses Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius as his greatest weapon. "What are you, Draco, five years old? I've told you already, Anthony's been ill! You're hardly a peach when you're sick, either, so give it a rest!"

Draco opens his mouth to retort, but Uncle Lucius chooses that moment to stand and raise his arms in the air. "May I have everyone's attention, please," he implores. Draco huffs and turns towards his father, though I'm certain this isn't the last I've heard about his newfound views on Anthony.

The chattering in the ballroom dies away as my uncle glances around to each table in turn. He, Aunt Cissy, Carina, and the Ryelands are sitting at a table near the front of the room, raised slightly above the other tables – somewhat like the staff table at Hogwarts. They've never set up a table like that before; it's simply to show off Carina even more than they already have and to highlight the importance of her engagement. "Narcissa and I would like to take a moment to thank each of you for coming this evening," Uncle Lucius begins. "This is an important time for all of us, and we are thrilled beyond words to welcome the Ryelands into our family, as well as to watch Carina and Elliot take the next step in their lives together."

Fred catches my eye and mimes vomiting into his lap. Because I feel the same way about Elliot, I can't help it; I let out a tiny giggle. Draco looks over and immediately spots the source of my amusement. He sends Fred a glare that would have anyone else shaking at the knees, but Fred merely grins and gives him a thumbs-up in response. "Forget it, Drakey, pay attention to your father," Pansy whispers, gripping his arm reassuringly. Draco glares at Fred a moment longer before conceding, an angry expression etched on his pale face. I break eye contact with Fred and will myself to listen to my uncle; I'm indifferent towards any of the Weasleys, but laughing at Fred's antics might give him the idea that I'm on his side rather than my sister's.

"The wedding is set for the seventeenth of August," Uncle Lucius goes on. "Agnelo, Jacqueline, Narcissa, and I would be honored if all of you would join us once again on that date. We shall send out official invitations, of course, and look forward to your company at such a momentous occasion."

I wish that Lyra was still sitting here; we could make fun of Elliot and Uncle Lucius' speech together. Draco thinks Carina and Elliot are a good match and Pansy and Daphne are misty-eyed, hanging on to every word my uncle says, and I can tell that they're entranced by the "romance" of the situation. I consider making a snarky comment to Blaise, Theodore, Crabbe, or Goyle, but I know they won't know my sister or Elliot well enough to understand any of the numerous jokes I could make. Pity.

Uncle Lucius takes his goblet and raises it into the air. "And now, a toast, if you please." He turns to Carina and inclines his head. "To my beautiful niece and her outstanding fiancé!"

The room follows suit, raising their glasses and murmuring, "To Carina and Elliot!" I put my goblet to my lips and take a long swig. Draco is practically chugging his wine, attempting – as he always does – to finish the goblet in one sitting. "Bet you can't drink all of that," he says once he finishes, slamming his goblet down on the table and nodding at my glass.

I grin. "We'll see about that."

* * *

Draco, Pansy, and I all grow considerably drunker as the night wears on. We're the only ones to do so; Daphne is a bit prissy when it comes to drinking, and Crabbe and Goyle eat far too much at one time for any amount of alcohol to ever have an effect on them. Blaise and Theodore eventually leave us, fed up with our rambunctious behavior, and we're joined by Daphne's younger sister, Astoria. "Care for a dance, Draco?" Astoria asks, tossing her light brown hair over her shoulder. She's twelve and in the same year at Hogwarts as Cassie's brother Jayden. I see a lot of Daphne's personality in her, but she's also quite unique, much more bold and passionate than her sister.

Draco laughs, his normally pale cheeks tinged with pink. "Sure, let's go," he agrees, getting to his feet.

Pansy sets her goblet down so roughly wine slops over the sides. "Draco!" She whines, crossing her arms. "Dance with _me!_"

I break into a fit of laughter at Pansy's petulance.

"What's so funny?" Pansy demands, turning to me.

"N-n-nothing," I respond, trying to compose myself. Pansy glares at me, then continues to berate Draco for choosing a twelve year old over her. I giggle quietly and take another sip of wine, glancing around to make sure Aunt Cissy isn't anywhere in the vicinity. Thankfully, she's on the dance floor, being spun with surprising grace by Mr. Ryeland. Uncle Lucius and Mrs. Ryeland are dancing together, as are Carina and Elliot and a number of the other guests. Lyra is still seated with the Slytherin boys, chatting and laughing with Marcus Flint. Several curls have fallen out of her bun, and her smile is carefree and relaxed; she's just as intoxicated as I am. Fred appears to have given up trying to get her attention. He's talking to Warrington and the Bletchley boys instead, probably about Quidditch – a subject he can relate with, despite being from Gryffindor House.

Inwardly, I'm relieved there hasn't been an appearance by the Dark Lord this time. His presence at Carina's birthday party had left me shaken, and I hadn't been able to enjoy the evening, even after he'd left. It's nice to be able to let loose this time and just celebrate.

"Ara! Come dance with me!"

I look up. Fred is standing next to me, smiling and holding his hand out. "All right," I agree, glancing around to make sure Draco isn't watching. He's preoccupied with Astoria, drunkenly spinning her in circles while Pansy observes them jealously. "Shouldn't you be dancing with my sister, though?"

Fred rolls his eyes. "That git Marcus Flint threatened to curse me if I didn't leave her alone," he says. "I think he fancies her… Shame she'll never choose him."

I laugh, stumbling slightly as Fred leads me to the dance floor. "And what makes you think she'll choose you? In case she didn't make it obvious before, she hates you."

Fred _tsks_. "Hate is such a strong word, Ara," he says lightly. "You seem to like me well enough, I'm sure you can project some of that influence onto her."

I snort. "I don't even know you, not to mention our families hate one another. Do you know what would happen if my aunt and uncle found out you were here tonight?"

Fred shrugs. "A small price to pay," he answers, taking my hands in his and twirling us around. I barely even have to move; he's a forceful dancer, pulling me along in whatever direction he sees fit. "Lyra's worth it."

"Why are you so obsessed with her?" I ask, my head spinning slightly as the wine continues to make its way through my veins.

Fred doesn't answer right away, choosing instead to snake his arm under my back and dip me. "There's just something about her," he says finally, offering no further information. "Why are _you _so obsessed with Abarca?"

"I'm not!" I retort, much too quickly to be believable.

"Come on, Ara, it's a bit obvious," Fred says, grinning. "Ara and Abarca, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G – "

"Shut up!" I snap, breaking away from him and bringing my arm up to slap him. I draw back too far, however, and in my inebriated state, lose my balance, falling backwards into a chair.

Fred doubles over in a fit of laughter, reaching his hand out to me. "Had one too many, eh? My kind of girl!"

I glance around, embarrassed, hoping that my aunt or uncle haven't noticed my fall. Thankfully, they are both occupied, Aunt Cissy dancing with Marcus Flint's father and Uncle Lucius with the Bletchley boys' mother. "You're a complete and total ass, Fr –"

"Feeling ill, Miss Lestrange?"

I look up, grateful beyond words that I hadn't managed to finish saying Fred's name. "I'm fine, Professor," I say haughtily, avoiding Snape's eyes as I take Fred's outstretched hand and allow him to pull me back to my feet. Really, his timing is impeccable. "I just… tripped."

Snape eyes me. "Indeed. Am I correct in assuming, Miss Lestrange, that this has more to do with your clumsiness rather than with an overlarge consumption of alcohol?"

I nod vigorously. "Yes, sir, that would be extremely correct."

"Ara's been fine," Fred jumps in. "I've been watching her all night, sir, and I haven't seen her take more than a drop of pumpkin juice –"

"Clearly we have been witnesses to two different scenarios," Snape sneers. "Make yourself scarce. I'd like a word with Miss Lestrange."

Fred doesn't dare question Snape further. He shoots me an apologetic glance before scooting off to his table, where the Bletchley boys still remain, using their wands to direct some sort of magical sword-fight between their silverware.

I groan, trying not to think about how much trouble I'm in. "Please, sir, you can't tell Aunt Cissy or Uncle Lucius, they'll kill me –"

"Hold your tongue, Miss Lestrange," Snape interrupts icily. "You're fifteen years old, and as such, I feel compelled to remind you that you are well below the appropriate drinking age."

"I haven't had _that_ much," I reply, crossing my arms. Really, I feel fine, if not a bit giddy and carefree. I struggle to keep that from my expression, however, and glare at Snape with one of indifference.

Snape arches his eyebrows. "Really? I take it, then, that you are well aware that you are bleeding from one of your elbows?"

I immediately glance down. A long cut is trailing from my elbow to halfway down my arm, dripping onto my rose-colored dress. "Shit!"

"Language," Snape says instantly, taking me by my other arm. "Come. We'll have it fixed before anyone realizes."

I allow him to lead me from the ballroom, cradling my arm to my chest the entire way. Nobody seems to notice us, thankfully, they're all too absorbed in their own activities. It takes me a moment to realize that both Carina and Elliot are missing, and I put all my willpower into not imagining what they could be doing.

"In here," Snape says, directing me into a guest bathroom a little ways down from the ballroom. I enter and take a seat on the sofa while Snape heads towards the sink. "Is it possible, Miss Lestrange, for you to stay out of harm's way for even a day?"

I stare at the blood staining my beautiful dress. "I don't know. Clearly not."

Snape smirks. "Indeed," he says again, coming back over with a wet washcloth. "Here. Wrap this tightly around your arm."

I do as he instructs, my head beginning to pound. Snape digs through his pocket, pulling out a vial filled with a light blue liquid. "What's that?" I ask, eyeing it suspiciously.

Snape uncorks the vial. "A complete cure for the after-effects of alcohol," he answers.

"I've never heard of such a thing."

"You wouldn't have. It's my own creation."

I take the vial and stare into its depths, then break into uncontrollable laughter.

Snape stares at me. "Do you find something amusing about this situation?"

I struggle to compose myself. "It's just… you would think… someone would have invented something like this before now."

Snape continues to stare at me as if I've lost my mind. "There are other potions available, but none as strong as this one. It's all-encompassing. Any other 'cures' simply reduce the effects, not eliminate them completely." He pauses. "It wasn't easy to create. I assure you it took me quite some time to get the ingredients and measurements just right."

I chuckle again. "Better save some for Draco, too, he'll be needing it in the morning!"

Snape folds his arms. "I'm more concerned with you needing it right now. Drink. All of it."

I raise the vial to my lips and take a sip while Snape removes the washcloth from my injured arm and begins examining the cut. "This is disgusting," I comment, forcing all of it down my throat and grimacing.

"I'm sorry it's not to your liking," Snape sneers, drawing his wand and using it to siphon the blood from my arm. "I'll do my best to make it more appealing, should this situation ever arise again." He glares at me. "_Will_ this happen again, Miss Lestrange?"

I shudder as the potion practically freezes my insides. Its effect is instantaneous; sobriety washes over me like a wave and the pounding in my head ceases. It's a rather strange sensation. "No, sir."

Snape narrows his eyes at me. "I do hope that drinking yourself into oblivion isn't your new preferred method of coping with things."

My mouth falls open. "_Oblivion?_ Sir! I was fine!"

"I've been watching you this evening, Miss Lestrange, and you need to reassess what you consider to be _fine_."

I roll my eyes. "I was just having a good time! I don't see what the big deal is!"

"The _big deal_ is that you need to keep control of yourself at all times," Snape responds sharply. He waves his wand over my arm. The cut seals itself seamlessly, revealing no trace that it had ever existed. "Gallivanting around drunkenly and hanging off of Mr. Weasley will not endear you to the Dark Lord."

"I don't _want _to be endeared to him – " I begin, but stop instantly once I realize what he's said. "Wait a moment, what do you mean – ?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Snape counters. "It's extraordinary, Miss Lestrange, how often students think their teachers are clueless. Do you really believe that _I,_ a Potions Master, would not recognize the effects of Polyjuice Potion? Especially when the drinker makes it extremely obvious?"

I'm speechless for a moment. "Lyra told him the same thing," I finally murmur. I have to admire Snape's skill, though. If "Anthony" hadn't acted completely out of character, I definitely wouldn't have been able to tell that it was actually Fred in disguise. "He likes her. That's the only reason he did it."

"Any imbecile can see that Weasley has a schoolboy crush on your sister," Snape says dryly. "What concerns me is that _you_ see no problem in acting like a fool in front of countless Death Eaters, any of whom could report your behavior to the Dark Lord this very evening if they so chose."

"I still don't understand what the problem is," I say fiercely. "What, I'm not even allowed to enjoy myself at my own sister's engagement party?"

Snape sighs. "The Dark Lord would not approve of you conducting yourself in such a rambunctious manner," he says quietly. "It may suggest to him that you are too young and immature to be worthy of his time or effort. Plus, if someone were to catch you fraternizing with Weasley, your life itself could be in danger."

"Nobody else except for Lyra knows that Anthony isn't Anthony," I retort. "And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the only one who's had a few drinks tonight. Nobody's going to remember who did what when they wake up tomorrow."

Snape seats himself next to me on the sofa. "That may be so, but you are different, Miss Lestrange. I can't stress this fact enough to you."

"This doesn't even make any sense!" I exclaim. "Everyone else is allowed to drink except for me? He has no problem with anyone else acting like an idiot, unless it's me? I wasn't even doing anything wrong! Have you seen Draco? Pansy? They're just as bad, if not worse!"

"That is quite enough!" Snape hisses, his tone dangerous. "Do you care at all about protecting yourself and your family? If not, then go. Continue to present yourself as a belligerent child and see what happens."

I maintain my silence, fuming inwardly. Snape can honestly be one of the most annoying people on the planet. It's entirely unfair to single me out for drinking when everyone at the party is doing it; I doubt that the Dark Lord _really_ finds it offensive in any way. "Of course I want to protect my family," I say finally, through gritted teeth. "I just don't understand, _sir,_ why having a bit of fun would cause the Dark Lord to think I'm not 'worthy' of all the wonderful knowledge he so _graciously_ wishes to impart on me."

"We are living in dangerous times, Miss Lestrange," Snape snaps. "You are quite lucky indeed that most of the people at this party aren't at their brightest tonight. Weasley has put all of us in a perilous situation; if anybody knew that he was an imposter, things could turn very ugly for your family – and subsequently, you. It doesn't help that Weasley is completely inept at impersonating Mr. Abarca. The Dark Lord does not take lightly to traitors. If you're caught mixing with the enemy – even, as you say, 'for a bit of fun' – the consequences will be severe. You are no longer a child, Miss Lestrange. You can't blame your actions on ignorance; the Dark Lord won't care if you acted wittingly or not. Your loyalty is to him and him alone."

I'm quiet for a moment, thinking of Lyra and her desire to join the Order of the Phoenix. "I'm not a traitor," I whisper, biting my lip.

Snape stands, then grasps my arms and pulls me to my feet. "I would not for a second believe that you are," he says firmly. "I just ask you, Miss Lestrange, to think carefully before you act." He studies me. "Come. It would be best to return before anybody questions our absence."

"Do you ever have these kinds of conversations with Lyra or Draco?" I ask suddenly. The thought has just occurred to me and I realize that I'm rather curious of the answer.

"There is no need. Neither has been called by the Dark Lord as you have. If they sought me out for advice, then of course I would oblige, but that is not the case. Your sister and cousin – as I'm certain you are aware – are both headstrong and independent. They make their own choices and decline to take into account the opinions of others."

"I'm independent too!" I protest. "The only reason you and I even talk about any of this is because you think I have trouble 'coping' with everything and force me to!"

"And soon we'll be chatting about the nature of your next detention if you continue to speak to me in such a tone!" Snape growls, heading towards the door. "Now come. I have to make sure that moron hasn't aroused any suspicion while we've been gone."

My heart falls. "You won't tell on Fred, will you, Professor?" I ask, his words about treachery running rampant through my head. More importantly, however, I'm praying he won't tell on me to Aunt Cissy or Uncle Lucius.

Snape turns, his hand on the doorknob. "I shall deal with him when we return to Hogwarts," he replies dismissively. "Trust me, there's never any lack of reason to give that boy detention."

* * *

Narcissa had a large fountain in her garden that Lyra liked to sit by. She, Carina, Ara, and Draco had spent countless summer days playing in it during their younger years. They were too old to swim in it now – and anyhow, they had a magnificent indoor pool in one of the wings of the manor if they ever had the desire to swim – but it was a quiet, peaceful place for her to think and relax and just unwind. "I've never seen this part of your house before," Flint said, seating himself next to her on the edge of the fountain and taking a long swig from the goblet he'd brought with him from the ballroom.

Lyra snorted and swirled her feet around in the cool water, her shoes discarded a few yards away. It was far too cold to be outside, but she'd needed some air, and Flint hadn't minded accompanying her. "I don't know how, Aunt Cissy's obsessed with her garden," she said. "She shows it off to anyone who shows even the slightest interest in it."

Flint smirked. "I know something else I have a slight interest in, eh, Lyra?"

"Shut up, Flint. It's never going to happen." Flint had had a crush on her since she was thirteen. He was only a year older than her, but she had absolutely no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with him. Narcissa had suggested it once, but the horrified look on Lyra's face had effectively prevented her from ever bringing the idea up again.

Flint drained the rest of his goblet and tossed it carelessly to the ground. "Come on, Lyra, can't you just give me a chance?"

Lyra jumped to her feet, nearly skidding on the slippery floor of the fountain. "You idiot, look what you've done," she snapped, pulling her wand out and aiming it at the shattered glass. "_Reparo_." The pieces flew back together seamlessly, and she gave her wand another flick, levitating the repaired goblet towards the vicinity of her shoes and away from further harm. "Those are Aunt Cissy's favorite goblets. She'll be furious if you ruin one of them."

Flint laughed. "Sorry, Lyra. You should have let me fix it, you know that men are better at magic!"

Lyra rolled her eyes. She couldn't remember a time when Flint hadn't been cocky and chauvinistic. "I'll keep that in mind for next time." She shivered. The wine was wearing off, making her all too aware of the freezing elements. "Come on, let's get back inside."

Flint hopped up and stood in front of her, preventing her from moving any further. "What's the rush, Lyra?" he said smoothly, taking her hands in his. He was so close she could smell the wine on his breath. "You're the one who wanted some fresh air, remember?"

Lyra yanked her hands away. "Yes, I remember, but in case you haven't noticed, it's ten degrees outside and we're sitting in nothing but our dress clothes."

Flint wrapped his arms around her. "You're complaining about the cold but you just had your feet in the water!"

Lyra struggled against his grasp. "Aunt Cissy charms the fountain water to stay warm," she said, her voice muffled by Flint's shoulder. "Now come on, Flint, get off of me – "

"I'll keep you warm, Lyra," Flint murmured, resting his head on top of hers. "Don't worry, love, I'll take good care of you." His hand was moving restlessly, working its way underneath the back of her dress –

"I believe the lady asked you to let her go."

Lyra fought to throw Flint's arms off of her. He responded by tightening his grip, but through the gap above his shoulder she could see Fred – still disguised as Anthony – observing the scene, anger etched in his face and his wand drawn. "Come off it, Abarca," Flint sneered. "Lyra's mine. Go back inside and find Ara, you're always going on about her, aren't you?"

"Sorry, Flint, but I have to disagree with you on that one," Fred replied fiercely. "She's _not_ yours, and I'll have to ask – well, _demand_, rather – that you get the hell away from her before I curse you into a million pieces."

Flint laughed loudly, pushing Lyra away from him and drawing his own wand. "Do you really want to play this game, Abarca? Did you forget how I wiped the floor with you at Lockhart's dueling club a few years ago?"

"Can both of you stop it?" Lyra interrupted, straightening her dress and throwing her hands on her hips. "You're acting like children!"

Flint glared at her as if she'd said something grossly offensive. "Are you kidding, Lyra? You'd rather hang around this prat than me?!"

Fred gave her the thumbs-up symbol with his free hand. "Excellent choice, Lyra!"

"I never said that," Lyra responded impatiently. "Can we please just – "

"He's been bothering you the entire night!" Flint went on as if she hadn't even spoken, his voice high and whiny. "You've spent the _whole evening_ avoiding him!"

"You're drunk, Flint!" Fred said sharply. "Get inside and leave her alone before you embarrass yourself any further!"

"That's it!" Flint snarled, flinging his wand aside and charging towards Fred. "I swear to Merlin, Abarca, I'm going to tear you limb from limb – !"

Lyra barely had time to register what was happening before Flint ripped Fred's wand from his hand and tackled him to the ground. "STOP IT!" She screamed, running over and attempting to pull Flint off of Fred.

"I'll kill you!" Flint growled, ignoring Lyra's blows as he attempted to get Fred in a choke-hold. Fred, trapped underneath Flint's body weight, flailed his arms wildly, searching for any part of Flint that he could hit. "Should've minded your own business, Abarca – "

"Marcus, please!" Lyra screeched, grabbing one of his arms and trying to hold him back.

Flint reared upwards and turned to her, his pupils glassy and wild. He reminded Lyra of some sort of deranged monster. "Get out of here!" He shrieked, pushing her away roughly. Lyra fell backward, smacking her head hard on the cold ground.

"DON'T TOUCH HER! _Stupefy!_"

Lyra groaned as she raised her head slightly, a dull ache beginning to form at the base of her skull. Momentarily freed from Flint's grasp, Fred had grabbed his wand, and was aiming it at the unconscious boy with a look of intense dislike. "Are you okay?" He asked Lyra, performing a nonverbal spell to put Flint in a full-body bind. He then pocketed his wand and reached a hand towards Lyra.

Lyra accepted it and allowed him to pull her gently to her feet. "I think so," she answered, rubbing the back of her head with her hand.

"Well, in that case, aren't you going to thank me for saving you from your prat of a boyfriend?"

Lyra crossed her arms and glared at him. "Oh, of course, thank you ever so much," she said sarcastically. "I'm forever in debt to you, Fred Weasley."

Fred chuckled. "Does this mean I can blackmail you to finally go on a real date, then?"

"Absolutely not."

Fred sighed. "You're a tough nut to crack, Lestrange. At least let me give you your birthday present."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "If I do, will you promise to leave me alone?"

"No can do. I don't make promises I can't keep."

Lyra snorted. "I'm not surprised; it's obvious by now that I'll never be rid of you." She backtracked to the fountain and took a seat on its cool marble edge, still massaging her head gingerly. "Fine. If it really means that much to you, go ahead and give me the present."

Fred grinned. "Well, if you insist," he said, digging around in his pocket and coming up with a small velvet box.

Lyra stared at it as if it might sprout claws and attack her. "If that's an engagement ring I'm going to murder you. And that's not a joke. I'll admit myself to Azkaban tonight."

Fred laughed. "You Lestrange girls are all the same! Ara had practically the same reaction when she saw it."

"Because Ara isn't stupid enough to believe that an engagement ring from you is some sort of amazing gift!"

Fred tossed it to her. "Just open it, will you? It's not an engagement ring, I swear."

"Moron," Lyra muttered, pulling the box open. Nestled inside was a pair of ruby earrings, square cut, encased in white gold.

Fred gauged her reaction eagerly. "Do you like them?"

Lyra stared, struck speechless. "These are expensive," she whispered finally. The less than stable financial situation of the Weasleys was more than likely to be a sore spot with him, but at the moment she didn't care. "How in the world did you afford them?"

Fred smiled. "Don't worry about it. Business has been booming for George and me lately." His face fell slightly. "You don't like them, do you?"

Lyra continued to stare at the earrings, shock coursing through her body. "They're very… Gryffindor," she responded, shifting the box so that a sliver of moonlight reflected off of the brilliant scarlet jewels.

Fred moved to sit next to her. "I know. That's why I chose them. You've taken a big step by joining the Order of the Phoenix – a pretty gutsy step, too, if you ask me. It's quite the Gryffindor move."

Lyra snapped the box shut. "I can't accept these. They're nice, Fred, really, but it's too much." She tried to shove the box back into his hand. "You didn't have to do this."

Fred pushed her hand away. "Yes, I did," he said quietly. "I want you to know that you're worth it and I'm going to wait for you, no matter how long it takes." Lyra bit her lip, averting her eyes from his. "There's good in you that nobody sees because they're so focused on the way you've been raised or who you're related to. I don't care about any of that. You may be a Slytherin, but you've got some Gryffindor in you, too. I just want you to realize that and know that no matter what anybody says, I'm always going to stand by you."

Lyra was silent for a moment. "You don't even know me," she murmured, tears pricking her eyes. "Why are you so sure that I'm such a good person?"

"I don't see anyone else in your family raring to join the Order," Fred replied. "You want what's right for the wizarding world, even if it means breaking away from the life you've known. Would you really have joined the D.A. if you weren't a good person?"

"I could be a spy. Zacharias Smith calls me one every other meeting."

"Smith's level of intellect is equal to that of a troll. And you do know who you're talking to, right? I'm one-half of the biggest troublemakers at Hogwarts, Lyra. I know every trick in the book when it comes to pranking, lying, and spying, and you, love, are definitely no spy."

Lyra turned the box over in her hand, still mentally stunned. "I… I don't know what to say."

Fred grinned widely. "Then let me do the talking." He took her free hand within his. "Happy birthday, Lyra."

Lyra swallowed. Lucius hadn't even wished her a happy birthday in front of their guests during his speech. He'd been too concerned with Carina. And here was Fred, a stupid, idiotic, irritating Gryffindor boy who didn't even belong here, in this moment, at this party, presenting her with a pair of earrings that probably cost more money than he'd ever seen in his life.

Maybe it was the small bit of wine still left in her body, but when Fred pressed his lips softly to hers, Lyra didn't pull away.


	22. The Battle

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Enjoy the chapter :)

**Chapter 21 – The Battle **

"You look beautiful this evening," Elliot said, lacing his fingers through hers as he swept her around the floor in time to the music.

Carina tossed her head but didn't comment. She always looked good; she didn't need reminding of it. "Let's get out of here for a bit," she said, breaking away from her fiancé as the dance ended and another one started up. "It's getting hot; I need some air."

"Won't your aunt and uncle notice if we're gone?" Elliot asked, his brow knit with concern.

"Who cares? It's my party. I can do what I want."

"Yeah, but won't they think we've sneaked away to… Well, you know – "

"Again, who cares?" Carina interrupted impatiently. She hadn't planned on a quickie in the broom closet with Elliot – Merlin knew she was classier than that – but she had never been one to really care what people thought of her, either. Besides, Elliot was a huge prude. "We're just going outside, Elliot. Quit worrying, you know my uncle loves you."

Elliot rolled his eyes, but a reluctant smile spread across his face. "All right, let's go," he agreed, taking her hand once more and leading her through the crowded ballroom to the exit.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way through the darkened manor, the laughter and music from the ballroom slowly fading to silence. "Where would you like to go?" Elliot asked once they reached the entrance hall.

Carina shrugged. "Maybe down by the pond. I've seen a few people head towards Aunt Cissy's garden, and I'd rather have a few minutes alone where we're not being forced to socialize with everyone."

Elliot nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on a point slightly above her left wrist. "What's that on your arm?"

Carina immediately shook her bracelets more securely over the Dark Mark. She was easily able to hide it from others on a normal day, because she rarely wore anything besides long-sleeved robes, but on special occasions it was a bit tougher. The Mark was the Dark Lord's own work; it couldn't be magically hidden or covered up by any means that she'd tried. So for the party, she'd resorted to covering it with several expensive bracelets. Some may have considered it overkill, but she made sure that they all looked good together and couldn't be mistaken for a random cavalcade of jewels. "Nothing," she said quickly. It wasn't that she was ashamed of being a member of the Dark Lord's circle, of course, but she'd been given strict instructions not to tell anyone – including Elliot. She didn't know how that was going to work out, considering they'd be married in less than a year, but she wasn't about to disobey a direct order – especially with the current strain between her and the Dark Lord. "Did you see our new portraits?" she continued, hoping to distract him as she made her way towards the wall directly across from the entrance hall doors, gesturing with her unblemished arm.

Elliot glanced at her suspiciously before turning his head. "Yeah, they're nice," he said vaguely. "When did you get them done?"

"Last week, right after Ara, Lyra, and Draco got back from Hogwarts," Carina answered. Her aunt forced them to pose for new family and individual portraits every year around Christmastime. They were then hung in the entrance hall for everyone – especially guests and visitors – to admire. "I'm not fond of mine, but the family one looks really good this year."

"I've already told you, you're beautiful," Elliot admonished, coming forward and throwing his arms around her waist. The portrait-Carina echoed his sentiment, cocking her chestnut head and smirking. "No portrait will ever do you justice. I don't know how I got so lucky to have you as my wife; I can only hope that our children turn out as stunning as you."

Carina frowned, pushing away from him. "Children?" she repeated, the uncertainty in her voice apparent.

Elliot nodded. "Well, yeah. You want them, don't you?"

Carina paused, her frown deepening. "I… I've never really thought about it."

Elliot's face fell. "Oh. I'd always assumed that you did."

In truth, she really _hadn't_ thought about it. "I guess it's something we can talk about later on. I mean, we do have time to consider it."

"I didn't think there would have to be any consideration involved."

Carina sighed, recognizing the resentment hidden underneath his words. She and Elliot rarely fought – then again, they didn't have much chance to. His father was a prominent Healer at St. Mungo's, and while the Ryelands were rich enough that Elliot would never have to work a day in his life, he apprenticed underneath his father. He had quite a talent for Healing, too, and Carina couldn't understand where Lyra and Ara got off saying he was incapable and unintelligent. However, he often spent long hours at the hospital, so consequently, they wrote much more often than they actually saw one another. She definitely cared for him, of course, but she preferred her independence. She was only marrying because it was expected of her and because Elliot, as a wealthy pureblood, was a perfect match for her. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Elliot."

"I'd rather cross it now," Elliot replied edgily. "What do you have against having children, Carina?"

Carina shrugged. "It's not that I'm _against_ it, Elliot, I told you, I just haven't really ever thought about it." She glanced around the entrance hall: it was empty now, but anyone could come along at any moment and overhear their personal conversation. "Do we really have to discuss this right now? Come on, forget going outside. Let's just go back to the party."

"You know, maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Elliot said brusquely, crossing his arms.

"What?"

"Getting married."

"What are you talking about?" Carina snapped. "_You_ asked me to marry you. Clearly you thought it was a good idea."

"Well, if we can't agree on having kids, what _will_ we agree on?"

"Why are you being such an idiot about this?" Carina asked, irritated. "We're not even married yet! Kids are the last thing on my mind right now!"

"Because they're the first thing on _my_ mind!" Elliot retorted. "Why do you think I chose you to be my wife, Carina? I love you! I want to start a family with you!"

Carina froze. "You… what?" she asked, temporarily struck speechless.

"I love you, and I want to start a family with you," Elliot repeated, his gaze forceful. "But if that's a problem, then I don't think I can marry you."

Carina continued to stare at him blankly. She'd no idea that Elliot felt that strongly for her – she'd always assumed that he was interested in her for the same shallow reasons she was interested in him. Plus, she was definitely the dominant one in their relationship; Elliot was rather soft and sentimental, which made it stupidly easy to bend him to her will. Perhaps _that_ was why her sisters thought him an idiotic prat… but _children?_ Love?

She didn't love Elliot, that was for certain. They'd been together since she was sixteen and in all that time, she couldn't remember feeling anything beyond an amiable companionship with him. It was amazing that Elliot could find such strong feelings for _her_. Then again, he was always showering her with gifts: flowers, singing cards, jewelry. And in all of his letters to her, he was constantly pouring out his soul, talking about everything from the weather to the stress of his apprenticeship to how he wanted to plan a surprise birthday party for his mother to how he couldn't wait to see her, Carina, again. And she never made the connection, never realized that while she was pulling further into her own world, sending him only the minimalist of replies, shunning any public display of affection beyond holding hands or giggling over small amusements, he was falling for her. Hard.

Here it was, again, the same thing the Dark Lord had already punished her for twice. She certainly was clueless, inherently selfish, too wrapped up in her own vanity to pay attention to much else.

"Carina?" Elliot said, cradling her cheek in his hand and stroking it with his thumb. "Carina, love, are you all right?"

Carina nodded and, without really realizing what she was doing, reached up to grasp Elliot's hand. "I'm fine," she said slowly, an idea beginning to form in her mind, growing out of the recent doubt she'd been harboring, deep in her heart, about her current position in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Elliot asked tentatively, his eyes shining with concern. "Look, Car, just tell me what you're feeling, if you want to postpone the wedding, or even put off having kids, we can; I just don't want to lose you – "

"Elliot?" Carina interrupted, squeezing his hand tightly, as if he were about to run away from her.

"Yeah?"

"How soon did you want to start trying?"

* * *

"Great haul!" Draco exclaims on Christmas morning, tearing the gift wrap off of my present. "Thanks, Ara!"

I grin, chuckling lightly as he immediately pops a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum into his mouth. "No problem," I respond, watching as similar expressions of delight appear on Carina's and Lyra's faces as they, too, unwrap their gifts. I'd custom ordered a Honeydukes basket for each of them – along with Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius – as Christmas presents this year. I'd been at a loss as to what I should get everyone, and figured that chocolate is always an excellent choice, especially since Aunt Cissy rarely allows us to have it. She claims it has "no nutritional value," even though we all know she has a huge sweet tooth for Honeydukes' chocolate éclairs. She often tries to deny it, and predictably, she sighs when she opens her basket. "Ara, you know I can't eat this."

"That's okay, I can," Uncle Lucius says, reaching over to grab one of the brightly wrapped toffees scattered throughout the basket.

"You're so full of it, Mother," Draco laughs, blowing a large blue bubble with his gum.

Uncle Lucius glares at his son. "Draco, please, don't take that tone with your mother."

Draco pops his bubble with a loud snap – a feat quite remarkable in itself, since Drooble's bubbles can last for days without popping – in response.

Carina snorts through a mouthful of Pumpkin Pasty. She's more of a cake-type person, so I'd had her basket filled with Cauldron Cakes, Honeydukes' homemade Christmas cake, the Pumpkin Pasties, and a generous amount of her favorite kind of chocolate, Honeydukes' Best Dark Bars. "Very nice, Draco."

"Thank you. I rather thought it was."

"You're so rude," Lyra says frankly, sucking on a piece of Pink Coconut Ice. She likes a variety of flavors; for her basket I'd ordered Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Fizzing Whizbees, the coconut ice, and Chocoballs, a delicious sweet filled with strawberry mousse. Draco's is full of minty sweets, including Pepper Imps, Peppermint Toads, and a bonus of Chocolate Cauldrons, which I knew he'd appreciate for their firewhisky center. And Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius, of course, had received a basket filled purely with chocolate – namely treacle fudge, toffees, Honeydukes' Best Milk Chocolate bars, and the infamous chocolate éclairs.

Draco huffs loudly. "I'm just telling the truth! You act like your love for chocolate is some big, shameful secret, Mother. Don't worry, a lot of people like it, I promise you're not alone."

"I do _not_ eat chocolate," Aunt Cissy snips.

"Of course you don't, dear," says Uncle Lucius, smirking, as all of us save for Aunt Cissy burst out in laughter.

Christmas day is a quiet affair at the manor. We never go anywhere, even though we normally receive several party invitations – Aunt Cissy had taught us when we were young that Christmas is a day for family, to be spent with those you love. Carina, Lyra, Draco, and I pass the day reverting to our childhood and waging a massive snowball fight on the grounds. It's been a tradition of ours since before I can remember. Lyra and Carina had usually teamed up against Draco and I when we were younger, since we'd been smaller and therefore, much easier targets. Now that we're older, however, we choose teams by drawing straws.

Draco is my partner this year. "We're going to kick your asses!" He taunts my sisters as we gather in the entrance hall, pulling on our winter accessories. Draco – now that he's older – is a valued teammate during snowball wars. As the only boy among us, he's regarded as both the strongest and as possessing the most accurate throwing ability. Whoever has Draco on their side nearly always comes out victorious.

Carina jams her hat onto her head. "In your dreams," she sneers. "Lyra and I beat you every year when we were younger, don't think we can't do it again!"

The war drags on for over an hour. Carina and Lyra work together seamlessly, claiming the knoll near the pond as their defense station. It's just large enough that both of them can crouch behind it, popping up to fire snowballs at Draco and I whenever we try to get close. Eventually, however, Draco distracts them by levitating a snowball right back into Lyra's face, allowing me to come up from behind and pelt them with snowball after snowball.

"That's cheating!" Lyra snaps angrily after Draco and I declare our victory, wiping her sopping bangs out of her face. "No wands allowed! None of us even brought ours out!"

"Don't blame us because you weren't prepared, Lyra," Draco says pompously, throwing his arm around my shoulders. "Team Araco wins again!"

Draco had coined the nickname "Team Araco" – a combination of our first names, obviously – for us when we were six years old and Carina and Lyra had first started ganging up on us during the annual snowball fight. He'd used it much more frequently when we were younger, but once we'd started Hogwarts and he'd met Crabbe and Goyle and had established an identity separate from mine, it had sort of died out. He'll still use it every now and then, but I've always thought it was a completely stupid name.

Then again, it's better than "Are Bear."

"You're not even of age, you're not allowed to use magic!" Lyra goes on, still sour over her defeat.

Draco rolls his eyes. "So what? Do you think Father's actually going to allow the Ministry to expel me over such a simple spell? I bet you ten Galleons they won't even send me a warning!"

"I would," replies Carina bitterly. "You never would have won if you'd just played by the rules!"

"Since when are _you_ above breaking rules?" I shoot back. I hadn't known that Draco had planned on using magic, but I'm usually perfectly content with anything he does to help us win. Besides, cheating is a huge part of the fight. It always has been. No one cares because it's a chance for us to let loose, to hold on to a little piece of our childhood. Many still consider Draco and I to be "young," because we're school-age, but it's nice to see Lyra, nearly graduated, and Carina, a full-fledged adult, let go of their serious demeanors and have fun sometimes – especially in light of the ever-expanding tension the Dark Lord has begun to spread among our family.

"Hey, Lyra and I did everything by the book this year – "

"Yeah, _this_ year," I interrupt. "Remember two years ago, when you and Draco set a Trip Jinx on Lyra? Or when I was ten and you held me down so Lyra could clobber me? Or – ?"

"All right, all right, I get the point!" Carina exclaims. "Fine! You little urchins win this time."

"So unfair," Lyra grumbles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, Lyra, get over it," Draco says bracingly, patting her on the back. Lyra jumps away from his touch and swats at his head, missing him by inches. "Oy! Merlin, Lyra, there's no need to get violent – "

"Let's just go inside," I cut across them, before any actual violence ensues. "We've been out here for awhile and I'm nearly frozen solid."

"You shouldn't even _be_ out here!" Lyra says accusingly. "You're going to make yourself sick again!"

"Fine time to point it out, Lyra, after we've been rolling around in the snow for an hour!"

"Yeah, Lyra, quit being a prat," Draco adds. "Ara's fine, you're just pissed because you lost!"

"That has nothing to do with her welfare!" Lyra says crossly as we begin to walk back towards the manor. "At least I actually care about her, Draco, she was sick for an entire week at school and you didn't even notice!"

"I did too," Draco retorts, even though I'm certain he hadn't been aware of it. Or, if he had, he'd never felt it necessary to berate me about my sickly appearance.

Carina harrumphs loudly, tossing her head. "The pair of you sound just like children! It's ridiculous!"

"Just think, Carina, that'll be how your children sound one day," I tease, linking arms with my eldest sister.

Carina's face turns as white as the snow underneath our boots.

Draco laughs. "Can you imagine? Miniature Carinas running around the manor, screaming and crying until they get their way?"

"Or miniature Elliots, hiding out in Uncle Lucius' study with their noses buried in his books?" Lyra chimes in, giggling.

Carina doesn't say another word until we reach the manor.

* * *

A few days after Christmas finds Carina, Lyra, and myself in Diagon Alley, reaping the benefits of what Carina calls "a sister's day." She'd brought up the idea at breakfast that morning, claiming that she wanted to spend some quality time with Lyra and me before we left again for Hogwarts. "What about me?" Draco had whined, crossing his arms petulantly.

"You're not a girl," Carina had countered, cutting her pancakes into dainty pieces. "Honestly, Draco, we're going to be shopping and getting our nails done. You won't have any fun."

"And I'm going to have fun hanging around _here_ all day?"

"Hey, now, your mother and I are the epitome of fun," Uncle Lucius had interrupted, turning the syrup bottle upside down and drowning his pancakes in the sweet liquid. "How about a nice game of Gobstones after breakfast?"

Draco had stared in disbelief at his father while my sisters and I had cracked up with laughter. "You can't be serious, Father."

"Of course I am. You know I enjoy Gobstones."

Uncle Lucius is the only one of us who actually likes Gobstones. The rest of us despise playing, but we agree to occasionally just to humor him. "I'm _not_ playing Gobstones, Father, and this is entirely unfair!" Draco had gone on angrily, pointing his fork at Carina. "Make her take me with them!"

In the end, Aunt Cissy had convinced Draco to stay home by promising to have Tippy make rhubarb pie for after dinner – it's his favorite dessert and we rarely have it, since he's the only one who enjoys its overwhelming tartness. Lyra tolerates it if it's covered in sugar, but Carina and I refuse to touch it. Aunt Cissy had first given us a taste of it one year at a party the Parkinsons had thrown, and to this day I can distinctly remember wanting to vomit the second my taste buds had registered its flavor.

"Where shall we go first?" Carina asks, glancing around the bustling streets.

"Let's go to Wiseacre's," Lyra replies. "I need to get a few new quills for school."

Carina rolls her eyes. "You would want to start out a shopping trip with a visit to a _supply store._"

They bicker good-naturedly as we make our way to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, snowflakes swirling around us and the chattering of passersby buzzing in our ears. Diagon Alley isn't much different from Hogsmeade, but each has its unique shops and wizard folk. There isn't one I prefer over the other, and I'm glad just to be here, in this moment, enjoying a rare day out with my sisters.

We breeze through Wiseacre's and head over to the Bianca Page Hair Salon, where Carina puts her employee discount to use and gets the three of us free manicures and pedicures. I choose a bright pink polish for my fingers and a dark, more subtle purple color for my toes. Lyra goes for lighter shades, picking a pastel blue and pink, while Carina decides to go bold, with a deep, sparkling red and dark forest green. "I can't remember the last time I had a pedicure _or_ a manicure," Lyra comments, flipping through a copy of Witch Weekly as one of Carina's co-workers swipes the light blue polish across her toes.

"Yeah, thanks for this, Car," I add, taking a sip of my cappuccino – just one of the complimentary refreshments that the salon offers its clients. "This kind of stuff is probably really expensive, I'm surprised they let you have it for free." I'm more surprised that Carina even continues to work here. Aunt Cissy loves to keep us close, and she and Uncle Lucius definitely wouldn't care if Carina didn't work at all. They'd be upset if she didn't aspire to start a career eventually, of course, but for now she's still young enough that lazing about at the manor and planning her future with Elliot every day is acceptable.

Then again, now that she's marrying into – as well as coming from – money, they probably won't give a damn if she ever works again.

Carina shrugs. "They know how to treat their employees here," she responds. "Only the most high-class witches and wizards come here; they won't lose anything on a few free nail jobs, trust me." She smiles. "It helps that they love me around here, too."

Lyra smirks. "They must not really know you, then."

Carina, in the middle of unwrapping a Cauldron Cake, changes tack and instead chucks it at Lyra's head.

We're at the salon for another hour or so, during which time I endure several remarks about how "big" I've gotten and how I "look _so much_" like Lyra and Carina, except for my hair color. I've met Carina's salon co-workers on several occasions and they make these comments nearly every time; one of them, Aldo, always offers to dye it for me. I'm used to these kinds of jabs – however well-intentioned they're meant to be – from the general population by now, but at times they can still get on my nerves. "Can we go for ice cream now?" I grumble as we finally leave the salon, the bitter winter wind stinging our faces.

"Oh, don't be angry, you know Aldo means well," Carina says indifferently.

"I don't care if he means well, I'm sick of people making comments about my hair! It's not my fault you and Lyra got the pretty color while I got stuck with boring black!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Ara, you have beautiful hair, Mrs. Mathews even said so, remember?" Lyra says, in a poor attempt at appeasing me.

"Yeah, well, Mrs. Mathews isn't the one stuck with it on her head," I mutter as we reach Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and step inside. Since it's the middle of winter, there's barely anyone in the shop – the Three Broomsticks is the place to be during cold weather – but Florean's delicious frozen treats have always been a favorite with my sisters and me. We stop there nearly every time we're in Diagon Alley.

Florean smiles widely when he spots us. I've always liked him; he's an extremely genial, highly intelligent man who treats every patron of his shop with respect. "Good afternoon, ladies!"

"Hello, Florean," Carina replies brightly. "Just our usuals, please, we'll be at our table in the back."

Florean waves his arm in acknowledgement. "You got it, girls."

"It's pathetic that we're in here so often he knows our orders," Lyra says as we reach our table. She sheds her cloak, shaking the snow out of it before throwing it across the back of her chair.

Carina and I imitate her. "We're not here _that_ often; we really only come to Diagon Alley when the two of you and Draco need to go school shopping, or Aunt Cissy or Uncle Lucius are looking for something specific," Carina responds, sliding into her seat. "_And_ we've been coming here since we were kids. We're just memorable, Lyra."

"That you are, ladies," Florean interjects, coming up behind us with our sundaes – a pumpkin ice cream with chocolate peanuts for Carina, a chocolate ice cream with strawberry whipped cream and hot fudge for Lyra, and a cherry-vanilla twist ice cream with marshmallow sauce for me. "Enjoy, my dears."

"Thanks, Florean," we chorus, unraveling our silverware from our napkins and digging in eagerly.

The shop fills up with a few more customers as we work through our sundaes, but I enjoy the overall silent and comfortable atmosphere. I can't remember ever having a better day with my sisters – or, even, a better past few days with my family. There hadn't been any fighting across the holidays at all – save for, of course, the normal sibling squabbles – and I can't help but allow the daringly optimistic bubble inside my stomach to swell.

Maybe we'll be okay. Maybe we won't fall apart after all, in spite of our differences.

Carina appears to be reading my mind. "I'm really glad we got to do this today," she says, plucking the cherry from her sundae and biting it off of the stem. "I miss you guys while you're at school. It gets boring just hanging out with Aunt Cissy and Uncle Lucius all the time."

"You see Elliot, don't you?" Lyra inquires. "And don't you have friends?"

"Of course I have friends!" Carina retorts, though I often secretly question this statement. Carina had had friends while she had been at Hogwarts – she'd been extraordinarily popular – but once she'd graduated, she hadn't kept in touch with most of them. She has a couple of close girlfriends now, but they never come around the manor and she only goes out every so often to visit with them. Carina's very independent and enjoys her freedom, and while I can understand that, I could never survive without my good friends and family. "And of course I see Elliot, but he's busy at the hospital. Healing is a serious business, you know."

"No, really?" I say, feigning surprise.

"Shut it, Ara."

"Don't you do stuff for… you know… the Dark Lord?" Lyra asks quietly.

I look at her in surprise, unsure if she's trying to instigate a fight with Carina right here in the middle of Florean's shop. There hasn't been one mention of the Dark Lord over the past week and I'd rather enjoy keeping it that way.

Carina takes her time answering, slurping down a spoonful of her sundae. "That's none of your business," she says finally, swallowing and wiping her lips with a napkin. "But I'm glad you brought that up, because there's something I'd like to talk to you guys about."

"What?" Lyra and I ask together. I'm interested in spite of myself, especially since Carina never discusses the Dark Lord with us. I'm certain she's under direct orders, just as I am, not to speak to anyone about her tasks, but it's exciting that she may be on the verge of divulging a part of her secret life to us. She's dealt with the Dark Lord up close and personal; any kind of information she dishes out will be pivotal to helping me survive this "training" to which I'll be subjected.

"I've decided to give up doing active duty for the Dark Lord," Carina responds, lowering her voice to ensure that the few patrons in the shop won't hear us. "Elliot and I were talking at the party last week, and we want to concentrate on having children and raising a pureblood family."

Neither Lyra nor I speak for a moment. "He won't be happy about that, will he?" Lyra says at last, stirring the remnants of her sundae slowly. Her gaze, however, is fixed on Carina, her dark eyes glittering strangely.

Carina glances down at her lap. "Probably not," she says quietly, speaking to her hands. "I have a couple of… _things_ I still need to take care of, but after that, I'll speak to him about it. He knows how important blood purity is; I'm sure he'll approve of Elliot and me wanting to carry on the Black line."

"Are you scared of the things he wants you to do?" Lyra presses on. "Is that why you want to back down from active duty?"

"Of course not!" Carina snaps loudly. There's nothing more insulting to her than being perceived as weak or stupid. "I'm a big girl, Lyra, I can handle myself! It's just… it's just not exactly what I'd imagined it would be."

I nod slowly. "Well, Car, I think – " I begin, but I'm cut off by Lyra practically knocking me off of my chair as she grasps Carina in a hug comparable to a chokehold. "Oh, Carina, I'm so happy!" She squeals.

Carina works to loosen Lyra's grip on her. "Happy?" she repeats, grunting slightly under Lyra's weight. "The other day you and Draco were making fun of the idea of Elliot and me having children!"

"I know, I know, but you know we didn't really mean it," Lyra responds hurriedly, finally disentangling herself from our eldest sister. "I'm just so glad to hear you say this, I mean, it just shows that family is still more important to you rather than that horrible man; oh, Carina, maybe now you can come over to the Order's side – "

She continues to blather on, unaware that Carina and I have ceased listening and are instead staring at her in shock. Carina's gaze is powerful, mixed with anger and confusion; I'm concerned her eyes are going to burn holes right through Lyra's skull. "What did you say?" she finally says through gritted teeth, her cheeks tinted red.

Lyra pauses, her expression perplexed. "What?"

"What the bloody hell did you just say about the _Order of the Phoenix?_"

Lyra's face falls as she scrambles to save herself. "I… I don't remember, I was just talking – "

"Did you join that group of Mudblood lovers?" Carina demands, jumping to her feet. "Did you, Lyra? Why are you talking about them? Why would you _ever_ think I'd want to join them?"

Lyra's eyes are wild and frightened; the other inhabitants of the shop are beginning to stare at us. "Did you, Lyra?" I repeat softly, hoping against hope that it isn't true.

It can't be true.

Lyra finally speaks. "Yes."

Carina doesn't immediately react. Then, in a flash, she draws her wand and points it at Lyra. "_Crucio!_"

Lyra screams, a loud, horrifying, blood-curdling sound that I hope to never again hear in my life. It mingles with the yells of the other customers and Florean, who run for the door, pushing past one another in their haste to get out. "Carina, STOP!" I shout, getting out of my seat and grabbing her arm. "That's your bloody sister, Carina, put the wand DOWN!"

"Miss Lestrange!" Florean yells from behind the counter at the front of the shop, his own wand clasped tightly in his hand; Carina, in her rage, turns on him and with a flick of her wand, disarms him and sends him crashing into a wall. "CARINA!" I shriek again, fruitlessly trying to calm her down. "Carina, stop it, stop!"

Lyra's lying on the ground, moaning, the chairs around our table upturned, the sundae bowls dripping onto the floor. "Get up!" Carina growls, pointing her wand at Lyra again. "Get up, you stupid bitch, you Muggle lover – "

"_Impedimenta!_"

Carina falls into the table behind her, sending it toppling over with a crash. Lyra has obeyed and jumped to her feet, strands of her chestnut hair hanging her face, her breathing heavy. She looks to me, her arm outstretched. "Come on, Ara, let's go!"

Carina struggles to her feet and grasps my hand before Lyra can reach me, her grip painfully tight. "Ara isn't going anywhere with _you!_"

"Let go of me, I'm not a child!" I snarl, attempting to rip my hand from Carina's hold, but adrenaline is rushing through her and she's much too strong, I may as well be fighting to free myself from a dragon.

"Shut up!" Carina spits at me again, her rage palpable. She turns to Lyra. "Get the hell out of my sight. Don't come home. I'll make sure you've never welcome there again."

"Like I'd want to come back!" Lyra exclaims sarcastically. She pulls off her emerald ring – the one that Aunt Cissy and Lucius gave her for her seventeenth birthday – and throws it on the ground at Carina's feet. "You've over here talking about how you want to start a family, and here's me, thinking you've changed, but you _haven't_ changed, Carina, you're still completely brainwashed, taking in everything that disgusting man says – "

"Starting a family doesn't mean I'm going to go skipping off to join the Order of the bloody Phoenix!" Carina shrieks. "You brought this upon yourself, Lyra, I should've known you'd do something so stupid – "

"You guys, please, stop!" I beg, but they completely ignore me, staring daggers at one another. I've never seen either of them this furious before and it paralyzes me with fear.

"Don't come home," Carina hisses again, her wand aimed directly between Lyra's eyes, her voice dangerously quiet. "If you ever set foot inside of the manor again, I'll kill you."

"Give me Ara," Lyra replies, her wand arm shaking.

"In your damn dreams!" Carina sneers. She shakes my arm so hard I'm afraid she'll break it. "Did you know about this, Ara? Did you?"

I shake my head, tears brimming in my eyes. "No. No, I didn't, but Carina, please, calm down – "

"_Crucio!_" Carina yells one more time, and Lyra's screams of pain echo horribly in my eyes as we Disapparte into darkness.

* * *

Sirius Black sat alone at the kitchen table, sipping slowly from a bottle of firewhisky. The room was dark – the only light came from a single candle sitting in the middle of the table – and it was rather late; the rest of Grimmauld Place had long since gone to bed. Black hadn't interacted with much of them lately. He spent a lot of time closed off in his room with Buckbeak, going through old photos of his time at Hogwarts with James, Lupin, and that traitor Wormtail. He knew that they were worried about him – Harry especially – but he was incredibly depressed now that their return to Hogwarts was so close. He hated being shut up in this old house, alone, unable to do anything useful for the Order. There were plenty of Order members constantly coming and going, but it just wasn't the same. He'd enjoyed his time with Harry and the Weasleys over the holiday and had remembered – for the first time in a long time – what it was like to mean something to someone, to be a part of a big family.

Except this one was much happier and wholesome than his own.

A shrieking from upstairs reached his ears. "Bloody hell, Mother, it's nearly two," he muttered, recognizing the screams as coming from the portrait of his mother that, most unfortunately, hung permanently in the entrance hall. He set his bottle down roughly and pushed to his feet, wondering what in the hell could have set her off at two in the morning. It was probably that accursed house-elf, Kreacher, trying to sneak around with more Black family valuables that he'd planned on throwing away at the first available opportunity.

But Kreacher knew every nook and cranny of this house, and he wasn't unfamiliar with sneaking around, Sirius realized as he climbed the steps to the main hall. Stumbling slightly in the darkness – and, perhaps, due to the firewhisky – he pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes. "_Lumos_," he muttered, stepping carefully into the hall and wincing as his mother's screams intensified. She was going to wake up the whole damn house.

He reached the entrance hall, glancing around carefully before hurrying over to his mother's portrait. "Shut up, you old hag!" He cursed as he drew the heavy curtains back over her, effectively muffling her cries. Sighing with the effort, he wiped his brow and pocketed his wand, wondering exactly what it had been that had set her off. He hadn't seen anything on his way upstairs. Perhaps it really had just been Kreacher skulking around.

The voice that came from out of the darkness proved him wrong.

"I need somewhere to stay."


	23. Truth and Lies

**A/N:** SURPRISE! Bet you're all excited to get TWO chapters from me in less than a week, aren't you? This probably won't happen often, so bask in the glory of it!

There may be a bit of confusion at the beginning of this chapter as to what time it is, so allow me to just quickly clarify… the opening scene takes place when Ara and Carina return to the manor right after the fight (early afternoon), and the next scene jumps to the previous chapter's end scene with Sirius, where it's currently around 2 A.M. I forgot I'd written the Sirius scene as being so late at night, so if you're following the previous chapter to this chapter in a linear fashion, it doesn't really make sense that the girls return to the manor in the afternoon while elsewhere, Sirius is awake at 2 A.M. drinking firewhisky, lol. So while the first scene is showing you what happened right after the girls came back to the manor, it's more of a flashback of sorts, since the current time is the time in Sirius' scene.

I hope that makes sense, and if not, I apologize! But please still enjoy the chapter :)

**Chapter 22 – Truth and Lies**

"What do you mean _she's gone?!_" Aunt Cissy demands, her voice shaking. She's staring down at the emerald ring nestled in the palm of her hand, an expression of disbelief etched on her pale face.

"I mean it exactly how it sounds!" Carina snaps, throwing her hands on her hips. "She's gone, Merlin only knows where to, and good riddance! I told her I'd kill her if she ever came back!"

Aunt Cissy looks up, her blue eyes startled. "You _what?_"

"Aunt Cissy, she joined the bloody _Order of the Phoenix!_" Carina screeches, her cheeks bright red. She's still just as furious as she'd been at the ice cream parlor, if not more so. "She's embarrassed our entire family! Wait until the Dark Lord finds out about this – "

"We'll have to alert him immediately," Uncle Lucius interrupts quietly from his spot on the couch. Draco and I are seated silently next to him; in fact, I haven't said a word since we'd returned to the manor – Carina practically dragging me the entire way – nearly half an hour ago. "We'll have to take action. You've created a real mess, Carina."

"_Me?_" Carina yells, outraged. "How in the hell did _I_ create a mess?"

"Did you really think it was a good idea to use the Cruciatus Curse – on your _sister_, no less! – in public?" Uncle Lucius shoots back. "Do you know how many people saw you? Fortescue even threatened to call the Ministry! They're probably already carrying out an investigation! This is going to take a lot of cleaning up, Carina; I'm going to have to ask some favors – "

"Then ask them!" Carina says heatedly. "I don't care, Uncle Lucius, she's not my sister anymore! She's not _our_ family! She's betrayed us!"

"And you've acted like a fool!" Uncle Lucius exclaims. "You're hotheaded, Carina, you always have been, you should have just brought her back here to us! We could have handled the situation quietly! Instead, Lyra's Merlin knows where, under Dumbledore's protection, no doubt; it's likely she won't return to Hogwarts after break, either – "

"Does anyone even care about where Lyra _is?_" Aunt Cissy cuts in hysterically, clutching the ring to her chest. "She's gone, Lucius _gone!_ Lyra is _gone!_ She could be in trouble! Hurt! Lost!"

"If she's with Dumbledore, Narcissa, then you know as well as I do that she's fine," Uncle Lucius responds brusquely. "We have bigger things to worry about right now." He turns to me. "Ara, what do you know of this? Did Lyra ever mention anything to you? Tell me the truth."

The sudden questions startle me, drawing me out of my reverie. "Nothing," I reply semi-honestly, my voice hoarse. I avoid his gaze; he'll be able to tell in an instant that I'm lying. "She never said a word to me about it, Uncle Lucius, I swear."

My uncle sighs tiredly, running a hand through his light blonde hair. "We have to speak to the Dark Lord straight away; he'll be able to advise us on the best course of action." He turns to my sister, his expression irritable. "Come, Carina; you created this fiasco and he'll want an explanation from you, I'm certain."

"I don't care, I have nothing to hide," Carina says haughtily, crossing her arms. "He'll agree with me, anyhow. He'll know I did the right thing."

Uncle Lucius rises and grasps her firmly by the arm, steering her from the room. I can hear them arguing as they make their way down the hall, their words unintelligible but their tones quite animated. Aunt Cissy emits a small squeak and drops into Uncle Lucius' vacated spot on the sofa, still holding tightly onto Lyra's ring. "Ara, Draco, go to bed," she says, her voice hollow, eyes vacant and unseeing.

I don't think she realizes what she's said, as it's only around five in the afternoon, but Draco and I obey without hesitation, jumping to our feet and scampering from the room. We don't speak as we make our way down the hall and to the main stairs. I take them two at a time, intent on escaping Draco and reaching my room as quickly as I can. I'm not in any mood to be interrogated by him, to listen to his sneering voice say, _"I told you so." _Besides, how can I attempt to answer his queries when _I_ still don't even understand what's just happened?

"Ara," Draco says, his voice soft, but I ignore him. We've reached the top landing and I turn swiftly in the direction of my room, hoping to shake him off, but he follows me, his footsteps rushing to catch up. "Ara, wait."

"I don't want to talk right now," I say shortly, refusing to slow down or even look at him. "I'd like to be alone, Draco, so please just go away."

"I'm not leaving you alone," Draco says firmly, appearing – slightly winded – at my side. "I know you're upset, Ara, and I'm not going to let you be alone right now."

We reach my room and I fling the door open, hoping that it will somehow grant my wish for solitude and smack him in the face. No such thing happens, however; Draco deftly catches the door and follows me inside. "Ara, you know this doesn't come as a surprise to anyone," he says gently as I climb into my bed, fully clothed, and throw the covers over my head. "But it's not your fault. You couldn't have stopped her even if you'd tried."

I don't respond. Of course it's my fault. She'd told me of her intentions, of her desire to join the Order. I'd chosen to push it away, forget about it, pretend it had never happened. I could have prevented all of this. I'd been the only one in whom she'd confided her deepest fears about the Dark Lord and our fragile family.

Of course it's my fault.

"You lied to Father," Draco goes on. "You told me Lyra had told you she wanted to join the Order, remember? _And_ that she'd wanted to join that ridiculous defense group Potter had tried to start? So I knew about it, too. I could have tried to talk her out of it, but I didn't. And you know why?" I feel my mattress sink as he drops down next to me. "Because Lyra's an adult. She's made her own choices, Ara, and we're just going to have to accept them. They aren't choices that you or I or Carina would have made, but if running around with Potter and Dumbledore and their stupid friends is how she wants to spend her time, then there's nothing we can do to change that."

I can feel tears stinging my eyes and instantly attempt to blink them back. "Draco, I'm in my bed. With the covers on. Over my head. Does that mean anything to you?"

"That I should talk louder?"

I groan in frustration. "Just go away, you prat."

Light assaults my eyes as Draco grasps my comforter and pulls it back. Entirely annoyed, I sit up, resigned to the fact that he unfortunately won't be going away anytime soon. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you don't _want_ to be alone. You may _think_ that's what you want, but being alone is usually when one _needs_ company the most."

"Very wise, Draco. Have they printed that on a Wizochoc wrapper yet?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Quit hiding behind sarcasm, Ara. All the wit in the world isn't going to disguise the fact that you're hurt."

"That doesn't mean I want to talk about it."

Draco shrugs. "That's fine, but I'm not leaving." He grabs my hand and gives it a tight squeeze. "We can sit here in silence all evening if you wish."

And we do.

* * *

"You say this was earlier in the afternoon," Sirius Black said, squinting at the bedraggled girl in front of him. "Where the hell have you been – " he consulted his watch, " – for the past _seven hours?_"

Lyra bit her lip. "I… I wasn't sure where to go," she confessed, staring down at her hands. And she hadn't been. She'd Disapparted from the ice cream parlor immediately after Carina and Ara had, knowing it wouldn't be safe to stay there and wait for the Ministry to descend upon her. She hadn't had a specific destination in mind and had ended up at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade – if anyone had been looking for her, she doubted they'd check a popular wizarding hangout. Plus, she had her cloak, and the bar was always packed around the holidays; as long as she kept her hood up, she could easily get lost in the crowd. It was a good thing, too, since the two rounds of the Cruciatus Curse she'd endured had roughened her up a tad – her robes were torn and she had a few cuts and bruises, most likely a result of falling into the table. She didn't need strangers questioning her on her less than stellar appearance.

It wasn't until she'd spent hours there – hiding out in a corner and sipping butterbeer, before being kicked out by Madam Rosmerta at midnight – that she'd remembered Grimmauld Place. It had taken her a couple of hours of wandering the streets of Hogsmeade to pluck up the courage, but finally she'd reasoned that, even if Black had been completely unwelcoming to her the first time she'd been there, she now had nothing left to lose.

Black cocked his head, still considering her. "Have you spoken to Dumbledore yet?" he asked. "This is a big deal; do you have _any_ idea what the Ministry is going to make of this?

Lyra shook her head. "I'm not sure how to contact Dumbledore. I… I've never really spoken with him outside of school."

Black sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair, leaning back in his chair until it tipped onto two legs. "You're an idiot," he said finally, allowing the chair to drop back down with a thud. "And you're lucky you didn't wake the entire house up, either, the way my mother was screaming her head off!"

"Well, sorry," Lyra replied curtly. "I didn't know you had a portrait of your crazy mother stuck to the wall. I didn't really get a grand tour the last time I was here."

"And don't expect that I'll give you one this time, either," Black shot back. "I still don't even want you here."

Lyra crossed her arms; she really wasn't in the mood for Black's prejudice tonight. "You would think the fact that I just got into a huge fight with my sisters and was even Crucioed by one of them would gain me some points with you."

Black said nothing, simply stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Come on," he said gruffly after a moment. "I'll show you to a room. First thing in the morning we'll talk to Dumbledore and get this straightened out."

* * *

Lyra woke early the next morning, despite the lack of sleep she'd gotten. For a moment, she forgot where she was and nearly had a heart attack, but in a second the previous evening's events came rushing back to her. She groaned and closed her eyes, rubbing them hard with the palms of her hands – as if such a gesture could stop her tear ducts from doing their job. "Don't cry, don't cry," she whispered to herself, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check. "Don't cry – "

But it was a fruitless effort and the next thing she knew her face was shoved into her pillow, muffling her cries as tears streamed relentlessly down her cheeks. All she could see was Ara's face, panic-stricken as she watched her two older sisters turn their wands on each other. She'd wanted to take Ara with her so badly, but Carina had been prepared to kill for their youngest sister. _Maybe one day,_ Lyra thought, _I can go back for her. Her and Draco. One day soon._

But deep in her heart she knew it was pointless. Ara wasn't as strong as her; she'd be pulled along with whatever nonsense Carina poured into her brain. And Draco was proud, too much like his father to ever consider joining the Light. She'd known all along that one day, she'd have to break ties with her family and follow her heart – but that didn't make it hurt any less. "Damn it," she murmured, wiping her eyes furiously. She was being ridiculous. She still loved her family, of course, but she needed to put them from her mind. She couldn't keep thinking about them if she was going to be of any use to the Order.

At the same time, however, she wasn't a cold, cruel, unforgiving monster. And forgetting about her own flesh and blood was going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever have to do.

It was with a heavy heart that Lyra cautiously made her way down to breakfast later that morning, unsure of exactly what kind of reception she should expect. She didn't even know exactly who was here – if it was just Black, or if there was another Order member or two skulking around.

The group of people gathered around the table in the kitchen was the last one into which she'd ever anticipated walking.

"Lyra!" one of the Weasley twins exclaimed, jumping to his feet and hurrying over to wring her hand. She knew instantly that it was George; Fred would never have greeted her in such a manner – and he was too busy staring at her with a look of mixed shock and bewilderment, anyhow. "How absolutely spiffing to see you!"

"Knock it off, George," Mrs. Weasley said irritably, setting a stack of napkins on the table.

"Mum!" George replied, as if he'd only just become aware that she was in the room. "Wonderful to see you, just fantastic – "

"Don't start with that nonsense again!" Mrs. Weasley barked. "Sit down and let the girl into the room, for heaven's sake."

George grinned and went back to his seat. "I'll move over, shall I?" he asked, scooting his chair over until there was a large space between him and his twin. "Come on, Lyra, Mum'll conjure up another chair in a jiffy."

"Why don't you do it? The pair of you keep going on about how you're allowed to use magic outside of school now," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"I can do it myself; I'm not sure I'd trust anything George constructs, anyhow," Lyra interjected, pulling her wand from her pocket.

George clutched his heart in mock pain. "That hurts, Lyra. Right here."

"Shut up." She waved her wand and a chair exactly like the others stationed around the table – she wasn't a bad hand at Transfiguration – appeared between Fred and George. She slowly took her seat, aware that every eye in the room was on her. It was rather unnerving.

"Well, I'll be the one to say it," Ginny said after a moment, tossing her red curls behind her shoulders. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley snapped from the stove. She turned to her sons. "You had better not be teaching her such language, Fred, George, Ron – I won't stand for it!"

"It's all Ronnie's fault, Mum," George answered promptly. Fred had yet to say anything, but Lyra could feel his heated gaze on her as she did her best to avoid looking over at him.

Ron threw his hands up. "Mum! I never did anything! Ginny's around tons of other kids at school, I don't know why you always automatically blame us –"

"Because I know how you boys are, that's why!"

"Mum, get a grip," Ginny interrupted. Lyra smiled to herself; Ginny sounded exactly like Draco. "We all want to know why she's here. Everyone's just too scared to ask."

"Yes, Lyra, why _are_ you here?" Hermione asked earnestly, placing a marker inside the book she was reading. Harry was seated next to her, studying Lyra intently.

Lyra glanced around the table, taking in its inhabitants for the first time: Hermione, Harry, the four youngest Weasley children – who all wore varying expressions of bemusement at her sudden appearance – and Mrs. Weasley, who was still fiddling around with breakfast at the stove. She wondered where Black was, as well as why all of these people were in his house. She could understand why Harry, his godson, would be, but did the Weasleys – outside of Order meetings – normally spend time at Grimmauld Place? "I… well… um…" she stammered, unsure of what to say. Should she tell them the truth? Everyone would find out soon enough, but she didn't know how much they already knew, if Black had mentioned anything to them before she'd come down.

Thankfully, she was saved from answering by the arrival of the Marauder himself, who looked as if he'd gotten even less sleep than Lyra: his dark hair was still unkempt, his robes heavily wrinkled. "What's for breakfast?" he grumbled, glancing around the room and frowning when he noticed Lyra.

"Information," Ginny replied immediately. "What's Lyra doing here, Sirius?"

Black ignored her, his eyes roving around the table. "It's a bloody townhouse and there's still not enough chairs," he muttered, drawing his wand and conjuring another chair next to Harry.

"Sirius?" Ginny pressed. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Hush, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley snapped again, appearing at Black's shoulder with levitating plates of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, as well as a jug of pumpkin juice. They floated above everyone's heads for a moment before settling gently onto the table. "We'll discuss everything after breakfast!"

Ginny rolled her eyes once more. "No one tells us anything!"

"Story of our lives," George agreed grumpily.

"Just eat your breakfast," Mrs. Weasley retorted. "Dumbledore will be here soon."

"Dumbledore's coming?" George repeated, perking up. "Wow, Lyra, this has to be big! What did you do, kill someone?"

Mrs. Weasley, who was busy hovering around the table, making sure everyone had everything they needed, thumped him upside the head.

"Ow! Mum – !"

"Eat up, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, tipping a few sausages onto Lyra's plate as if nothing had happened.

Underneath the table, she felt Fred's fingers curl around hers.

* * *

"Good morning, Miss Lestrange," Dumbledore said pleasantly, seating himself in an armchair in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place.

"Good morning, sir," Lyra replied quietly, giving the room a quick once-over: it was dark, dusty, as if it hadn't been used in years. Then again, most everything in Grimmauld Place gave that impression.

"Please, my dear, have a seat."

Lyra obeyed, plopping down in an armchair across from him. Tiny clouds of dust, trapped for ages in the ancient cushion, drifted upwards, traveling quickly down her airway and drawing out of her a series of violent coughs.

"Ah, yes, it's been rather a chore cleaning out the house," Dumbledore said apologetically, pulling out his wand and conjuring a glass. He touched the tip of his wand to it and it instantly filled to the brim with water. He handed the glass to Lyra. "It's been abandoned for years; I daresay Molly and her family have had quite a time making it inhabitable."

Lyra sipped the water slowly, allowing it to soothe her aching throat.

"May I offer you a lemon drop?" Dumbledore went on, fumbling in his pocket and emerging with a bag filled with what looked like round yellow pebbles.

"Sorry… a what?" Lyra asked, setting the empty glass on the side-table next to her chair.

"A lemon drop," Dumbledore repeated, opening the bag and popping one into his mouth. "They're a rather enjoyable Muggle sweet. I always carry a small bag around with me, in the event that I should experience an irrepressible craving."

Lyra stared at him. Only Dumbledore would find some absurd Muggle sweet tasty… Lemon drops? Honestly. "Uh, no. No thank you."

"Well, if you change your mind, I highly recommend them," Dumbledore said, smiling as he pushed the bag back into his pocket. He then leaned back into his chair and folded his hands together. "Now, Miss Lestrange, I am sure you know why I am here; there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you – "

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Lyra turned around so fast her neck cracked. Snape had burst into the room, black robes billowing about him, giving him the appearance of an overgrown, extraordinarily angry bat. He was waving something furiously above his head as slammed the door shut and charged towards them. "Indeed, Miss Lestrange, I expected this sort of behavior from Carina and Draco, perhaps Ara, but certainly not you!"

"Severus!" Dumbledore, who had jumped to his feet, said sharply, glaring at the other man.

"Read it!" Snape went on harshly, tossing the object he'd been waving about into Lyra's lap. "Let's see if the allegedly _brightest student at Hogwarts_ can figure out what's wrong with this picture."

Lyra snatched up the object. It was a page from that morning's _Daily Prophet_, an article entitled "Simple Squabble, or Severe Sibling Rivalry?" circled in heavy black ink. She began to read, her eyes narrowing with every line:

_Mrs. Anita Jones, 52, thought she'd cap off a day of shopping with her sisters Alma, 54, and Arlene, 48, with a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in Diagon Alley for one of his infamous Hot Chocolate Sundaes. "We'd had a great day," she said, speaking from her Manchester home late last night. "Thought we'd end it at one of our favorite shops; Florean's an old family friend, makes the best sundaes around."_

_What they received, however, was an icy treat _not_ on the menu._

"_It was frightening," Mrs. Jones said of the fight that broke out between three other patrons. "There was yelling and screaming, and then one of the girls began using the Cruciatus Curse. It was absolute mayhem!"_

_The girls in question are sisters Carina, 20, Lyra, 18, and Ara, 15, Lestrange, daughters of some of the most famous supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Since their parents' imprisonment in Azkaban, the sisters have been raised by their aunt and uncle, Ministry enthusiasts Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. "We didn't bring up our girls to behave this way," Lucius, 41, said in a statement to Ministry employees who arrived at his Wiltshire manor to question his nieces last night. "It's sickening to think that Lyra has betrayed us in such a horrible manner."_

_Carina spoke candidly: "I don't know what happened; one minute, we were enjoying our sundaes, the next, Lyra was throwing Unforgivable curses at me," she said. "It hurts that my own sister tried to inflict such pain on me, but I'm just glad I was there to protect Ara."_

_Ara, the youngest child of Bellatrix and Rodolphus, is not believed to be involved in the argument. Carina said the disagreement escalated after Lyra, a 7__th__ year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, revealed her plans to join Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in his futile quest to convince the wizarding world of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return. "She's as crazy as Dumbledore and Potter now," Carina said. "Honestly, why else would someone attack their family and claim that You-Know-Who has come back? There was no need for the situation to get so out of control, and it saddens me greatly to know I can't consider her family anymore."_

"_My family and I kindly ask for privacy during this time," Lucius went on. "It's unbearably difficult dealing with the betrayal of a beloved family member, and I'm just grateful that neither Carina nor Ara were injured."_

_Mr. Florean Fortescue, the owner of the shop, was not so lucky. He was thrown into a wall by one of Lyra's curses and rendered unconscious. Unfortunately, he remembers little of the incident. "I'm not sure who started what, but the next thing I knew, the two older girls were screaming at one another," he said. "It's a shame, those poor girls; I've known them since they were young and wouldn't have seen this coming a mile away."_

_Lyra Lestrange Disapparted from the scene and is assumed to be in hiding. The fact that she is willing to cast an Unforgivable curse in a public setting is a sign that she should be considered extremely dangerous, and it is not recommended that she be approached at any cost. Any information on her whereabouts or otherwise is welcome._

Lyra felt as if her insides were burning. "_What?!_" she screeched, throwing the clipping down furiously. "They've twisted the entire story! _Carina_ cursed _me,_ she went completely berserk – !"

"And you were foolish enough to retaliate!" Snape interrupted angrily. "There were witnesses, Miss Lestrange, and either your uncle paid them off to lie about what really happened, or he modified their memories! Do you understand what this means? They've made you out to be a wanted criminal now, just like that moron Black – and not to mention mentally unstable, just as they're constantly claiming the Headmaster and Potter to be!

"Severus!" Dumbledore said again, staring down his long, crooked nose at the Potions Master. "That's enough! If you wish to remain and discuss Miss Lestrange's situation, then take a seat, but I must ask that you calm yourself."

Snape gnashed his teeth but dropped heavily into an armchair, crossing his arms. "I trust you realize you can't return to school?" he snapped, glaring at Lyra.

"Yes, I'd figured that out for myself, remarkably enough," Lyra spat, her blood boiling. "How could I go back, even if Carina and my uncle hadn't lied to the Ministry? I'd be an easy target, they'd know exactly where I – "

The door burst open a second time and Fred, followed by George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione, toppled into the room, a strange, stringy, skin-colored substance dangling from their ears. "What do you mean, she can't go back to Hogwarts?" he bellowed, skidding to a stop in front of Lyra, Dumbledore, and Snape.

"Did you really _Crucio_ your sister?" Ginny asked, regarding Lyra with a look she couldn't quite identify.

"Did anyone ever tell you, Weasley, that it's entirely unacceptable to eavesdrop on _private conversations_ with your childish inventions?" Snape spit, his face contorted with rage. "Get out of here, the lot of you, or you'll have detention from now until the summer holidays – "

"I don't care!" Fred exclaimed. He turned to Lyra. "You can't _not_ come back to Hogwarts, Lyra!"

"Surely, Mr. Weasley, you understand the circumstances in which Lyra finds herself," Dumbledore said calmly. "Lucius and Carina have tampered with the truth and put out a story that paints Lyra in a rather unflattering light. It's safer – for the time being – for her to remain hidden."

"How do we know she's really the innocent one?" Ginny asked snootily. George, Ron, Harry, and Hermione maintained their silence, hovering together in the background. "That whole family is rotten, sir, they tried to kill me in my first year!"

"That was my uncle, not me," Lyra answered, her tone short.

"I would advise you, Miss Weasley, to remember that not all family members share a brain," Dumbledore added. "Look at Sirius. His entire family supported Voldemort except for him, and you've all stood behind him without question… well, _with_ question at first, perhaps, before you knew the truth behind his imprisonment – "

"This is a _private conversation_, Headmaster," Snape repeated, his face turning, if possible, even angrier at the mention of Black's name. "I must insist that they leave. _Now_."

"Actually, Severus, I'm not sure I agree," Dumbledore said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the bag of lemon drops. "They're going to find out eventually, are they not? Isn't it better to share the truth with them, rather than allow them to be protected by a lie?"

Lyra wouldn't have been surprised if Snape exploded with rage. "Then shouldn't _Molly_ be the one to tell them?"

"I'm more than happy to discuss the matter with them, Severus."

"Can we get back to the point here?" Fred said impatiently. "Lyra's coming back to Hogwarts and that's that. I'm not accepting anything less."

"It's unfortunate that your opinion doesn't count, then, Weasley," Snape retorted callously.

"Let's start at the beginning," Hermione suggested. "We all read the article in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning. Please, Headmaster, tell us what really happened."

"I'll tell you what happened," Lyra said, growing enraged all over again at the thought of the lies her uncle and sister had strewn. "Carina, Ara, and I went to Diagon Alley for the day and stopped at Florean Fortescue's shop. Carina decided to confide in us that she didn't want to do anymore active duty for the Dark Lord – yes, my sister is a Death Eater," she confirmed, correctly interpreting the looks on the Weasleys', Harry's, and Hermione's faces. "She's got the Dark Mark, too, you should ask to see it sometime. Anyhow, I thought that meant Carina had changed. Stupid, right? I was really just overjoyed that maybe, my family would be whole again. That my sister was coming back to us. So, like an idiot, I blurted out that maybe she could join the Order, too, and that was when she lost it. Started hexing me – yes, with the Cruciatus Curse – and grabbed Ara before I could get to her. Now, I've lost my entire family, and to make it worse, they're making it look like _I_ was the one who instigated everything."

Her speech was met with silence. Finally, Fred said, "Carina attacked you?"

"Were you not listening? She used the Cruciatus Curse on me twice, Fred – "

"I'll kill her!" Fred barged across, his face turning the color of his hair. "I swear, Lyra, if I ever see your sister again I'll tear her limb from limb!"

"That's quite enough, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said quietly. "Now, what you must all understand is that Lucius and Carina are spreading these lies to discredit Lyra. It's likely that they've alerted Voldemort as well; as such, returning to Hogwarts will not be in Lyra's best interests. The castle is protected by powerful enchantments, of course, but charms are fallible and I'd prefer not to take any chances with her safety." He glanced gravely at each of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione in turn. "You must not endanger her in any way. If, when you return to Hogwarts, someone asks you about her, it is imperative that you feign any knowledge on her whereabouts and activities. This should be easy; it's doubtful anyone will deduce that, as Gryffindors, you have ever had more than a passing contact with her, but one never knows." He turned to Lyra. "And, Miss Lestrange, I have to say I think it best if you remain here at Grimmauld Place, just for now."

Lyra's stomach dropped. "Here? _Here?_ Sir, you know that Black hates me!"

"Your current situation perfectly mirrors that of Sirius, and I think it would be to his advantage, Miss Lestrange – as well as yours – to share some time with a kindred spirit."

"I'm staying here, too, then," Fred said determinedly.

"You absolutely will not!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, striding into the room. Lyra was surprised it had taken her this long to hunt them down and vent her spleen on them. She hadn't known Mrs. Weasley long, but it was obvious that she shared some traits with her Aunt Narcissa: she cared deeply about her family and wanted nothing more than to protect her children.

"Well, that's a bit unfair," George complained. "Lyra gets to miss out on the rest of seventh year, so why can't we? It's not doing us a lick of good, sitting in class with teachers like the Umbitch."

Lyra snickered in spite of her anger. Cassie had started quite a revolution with that nickname.

"Watch your mouth, young man!" Mrs. Weasley yelled. "Now come on, the lot of you, leave Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape alone with Lyra. You've had your explanation and that's quite enough for one day!"

"We're not children, Mum!" George protested. "Fred and I are nearly eighteen! We've long since been of age to be in the Order!"

"I don't care, George, you'll finish your education first and that's the end of it!"

"I'm not leaving without Lyra, Mum," Fred said stubbornly.

Lyra sighed. "Fred, really, quit being dramatic," she said. "Your mother's right, your education is important." Her feelings for him were still largely confusing, but she was certain she'd never met a boy this serious over her. They'd only be apart for a few more months and he was acting like it was an entire lifetime.

"Thank you!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. "Listen to that girl, Fred, at least someone in this house agrees with me!" She headed towards the door. "Now, let's go, your father is upstairs thinking he can clear out one of the spare bedrooms on his own, I swear that man gives no thought to rest and recovery!"

Lyra sighed once more, this time internally as Mrs. Weasley's children – along with Harry and Hermione – began to file after her out of the room. She wasn't sure if they'd been more interested in the truth or simply in another chance to crucify her. Actually, Ginny had been the only one (apart from Black the night before) who had still shown some animosity towards her, which was pretty much the way it had been during her last brief trip to Grimmauld Place. She wasn't positive how Mrs. Weasley felt; Lyra still found her rather hard to read, but she decided for now to believe that Mrs. Weasley erred more on the side of acceptance.

"This is rubbish," Fred said softly, hanging back from the others. He reached for her hand. "I'm going to miss you."

"Don't worry, Weasley, that can be fixed," Snape said with a smirk, smoothing his robes as he and Dumbledore rose from their seats. He made sure to walk right in between them in his bid for the door, forcing them to drop hands. "You're going to be scrubbing cauldrons from now until the end of the term for trespassing on my private stores – " he took a moment to appreciate the puzzled, "how-much-does-he-know" expression that came over Fred's face " – and I assure you, Weasley, the only thing you'll be missing at the end of the day is the precious time you've had to waste cleaning up after Longbottom's numerous disasters."


End file.
